Transition, part 1: Old View

Two weeks ago I gave up the keys to my old apartment. But before I did, I sat in the living room and stared out of the same window I've stared out of for more than five years. The view isn't anything astonishing, a little patch of sky and a piece of the neighbor's roof and chimney. But many times, at night, I've seen fireworks in that patch of sky (there is a small stadium a mile away); and once or twice, when a storm passed through in the afternoon, there were rainbows.

The view has been good to me, even though so often I've looked at it unhappily, longing for the day I might have a roof, and chimney of my own, some sun, a patch of dirt to make myself a garden. I thought that the day I moved out of this apartment would be the day my ex and I took a step closer to that dream. Little did I know...

In my notebook, I composed an imaginary letter to A~. Well, the letter was real, but the idea of him ever reading it was not. In it, I wrote about the nausea I felt moving the last few things out of the building. I wrote about how angry and hurt I still feel. I wrote about how I can't possibly respond to his request that I call or write to give him updates on my life. Unless he can express interest and concern for how I actually feel, unless he can truly be my friend, I cannot be his. I wrote that, as much as I am loathe to admit it, I still miss him. And then it hit me: I cannot even be his friend. And then I cried for a few minutes, snapped a few photos, dropped my keys in my landlord's mailbox, and left.

Part 2, next post...