I don’t think that I have been this excited to move somewhere since moving into the dorms in New York for the first time when I was 18. The apartment is beautiful. Especially compared to the mediocre place we are leaving. There is so much space. I have my own bathroom. There are no memories here except the ones I will make in the months to come. It is a bare space waiting for me to fill it with the ness that is me.
Of course, I think of him. He comes home from work as we begin loading the first of the moving items. We ignore him. My roommate will take the things my ex left at our place when we are finished. I do not have to talk to him again. I do not want to. I block his number. Of course it isn’t really as simple as ceasing to feel sad or heartbroken. But a weight is lifting. It is rising off my shoulders and neck so that I can stand straighter.
I sleep better that night in my new bed, in my new apartment, than I have since he held me in his arms every night. Better perhaps. I am finally free.
I can’t wait to start decorating!