Last night was officially the last night I would spend in my apartment. And today I must pack up and move all of my things out.
It’s a very strange feeling, as I put away or throw out my possessions. One by one, I am erasing myself from this place. I am removing all traces of evidence that I even existed here. My memory is eradicated from this place. Was I even here at all? Unless you saw it with your own eyes, you’d never know.
Change and moving on are tough for me. Not because the new is scary and uncertain, but I mourn for what’s lost - what only remains in memories, and what we’ll never have a chance to happen again.
This room on the thirteenth floor was my home and my comfort place. And now I’m taking all signs of my presence away from it.