Clinging to the rocks
Ive always said tenacity is my blessing and my curse.
When I walked out of my apartment on Saturday, September 17th for the last time, I wasn't sad at all. That's never happened to me. Every time I've left a place I called home I always had some sort of sadness.
There was the extreme example: when I left the house I grew up in and continued to break in and sing drunken dirges at the top of my lungs at 2am. Then there was the apartment I shared with my brother – I wasn’t physically attached to it but I loved living with Mattie. I was stupidly nostalgic when I left the little apartment on Center Street that Kelson and I called home. There were even tears when I left my aunt and uncle’s apartment after a year in Hell’s Kitchen.
So I was surprised when, after 3 years, I stood in the room where I've slept away my sadness, drank and laughed with Kelson and dreamt of creating a life with Stephen and didn't shed a tear.
The point is if I’m learning how to let go of a space, maybe I’ll get better at learning to let go of a lover too. Maybe I don’t have to be sad, angry and overanalytical when things end and just accept them as they are.
And if that works then I may even be able to let go of my expectations and really just experience each moment again.