our old apartment before the move
our old apartment tonight
I know that every single one of you reading this has been through a move, perhaps some of you have done it ten times in the last decade. You’ll know this, then: there is no marrow-dragging bone tiredness that can possibly compare. The little tiny things you leave behind that you only notice when the initial husk of crap is stripped away, that’s what kills ya.
It’s the broom behind the door, the endless extension cords, the tiny stuffed animal that this girl gave you in college, the book that was holding up the television. Oh, and does anyone need any phone cord? We have 17.3 miles of it, all in eight-foot strips.
I’ve had it with my body. It’s had it with me. I have one thing to say, however: our new place has really cool peepholes in the old mahogany doors.