the old apartment
I’m alone.
To the left, a desk, wobbly and delicate. Ikea, I think. It moves when you touch it or look at it the wrong way and I’ve decorated it with little reminders of who I am. Or at least, who I think I want to be.
It’ll be years before I realize the metaphor in its frailty.
To the right, is a couch that doubles as a pull-out. It’s the best $100 could buy, and I don’t mind that it’s a little stiff or that you can feel the springs when you lay on it too long. I like that it’s the perfect size for the pillows my mom made me and the blanket I bought to match. I change them out with the seasons.
On the walls, a homemade display of postcards, of all the places I’ve been. I haven’t come anywhere close to seeing the world, but I’m getting there. I’ve seen forty-seven states and more than half a dozen countries on two continents.
The rest, I’ll get to. I’m sure of this.
The apartment is tiny and too expensive for what it is. But it comes with a view of the water and a patio I’ll never use, and most of all, it’s mine.
It smells like Fall year-round.
It’s been five years since I was in that apartment. Since I packed up all my belongings and sold all the things I once touted as placeholders for my identity. Five years since I dismantled all of me in favor of all of you.
And I love that you can quote episodes of 90 Day Fiance just as well as I can. That we finish each other’s sentences. At least five times a day one of us says something and the other proclaims “I was JUST about to say that!”
I’ve never had that with anyone.
It’s everything I’ve dreamt of.
But some days, I miss the smell of that apartment and the way everything was mine. Mundane little moments that carved out who I was becoming.
The nights I’d stay up working until 11pm, so sure I was going to change the world. The mornings I’d wake at 5am to Sawyer’s nose poking me awake for his breakfast; only to get right back to work after. At that frail desk. On that stubborn sofa.
And my mom would come in the summers for the pool, and we’d eat pizza on the floor and I would dream of a life bigger than the one I was living. It’s where I dreamed of you. Of this. Of us.
I love everything I have. I love you.
But I never did mind living alone.
Great piece of writing, well done!