In about two weeks, we leave this home where I've lived for over two years. We are boxing things up & getting rid of things & taking things off walls. In certain rooms, there is a pronounced echo that wasn't there a week ago. In these ways does a house stop being a home.
& it makes me think: how strange it is that the last moments one lives in a place so resemble the first moments one lives in a place. Because when we moved into this house a little over two years ago, it so resembled what I am seeing now.
Except. I was unfamiliar with everything, & now I know this place as much as I've known anywhere I've lived. It's a strange sadness, a feeling of loss, & luckily keeping busy keeps that at bay.
No comments:
Post a Comment