Thursday, August 5
Och det var vackert, men det såg hon först idag.
Yesterday I turned the keys to my old apartment over to its new owner. Now it’s not mine anymore. It feels weird, like I lost a piece of myself somehow. When I first bought it, a little over two and a half years ago, I had never lived alone. I had always lived with boyfriends, or in collectives or with roommates, and we’d always been subletting. I bought it after my then current boyfriend and I had broken up, and when I first saw this tiny but beautiful apartment I knew it was going to be my home. And it was, I was very very happy there. It became my place of solitude and my safe place, of sorts. So when I cleaned it out this past Tuesday, I thought about all the crying I had done there. The endless, pointless waitings. The flickering infatuations that never amounted to much. I could feel them in the walls. All the crazy drunken nights with friends, the secrets we told each other and the vows, the sentiments. I thought of how my first date ended up with Kristofer and me sitting there, mixing awful rum and coke drinks and making playlists for each other on iTunes. How we used to lay on my bed those first few weeks talking through the nights, drinking tea and kissing until our lips hurt. Such long months of sleep deprivation, so many long hours of painting, reading and listening to music and very often eating whatever I goddamn pleased in bed. I thought about all of that (and many more secret things) while cleaning its windows and polishing its floors. When I left it yesterday it wasn’t mine anymore. And that was fine, we had had our goodbyes. Now it will be fall soon, and Kristofer and I will soon be moving in to our new apartment. I think it might be wonderful.