Last Thrusday was my 22nd birthday (yay!), but it was also move out day for me. It's been a year already, but it seems like only a couple of months ago that my roommate Mevy and I moved into this little duplex with hand me down furniture and tons of stick-on hooks ready for our first home.
Ours. Not our parents' house, not a dorm at school, but a home that was ours to decorate, clean, pay the bills, and take care of. And our little home has been so good to us.
Its wooden floors were old, and may have hurt me after a couple of accidental trips (surprised?), but they were cool to my bare feet during the hot months. The walls may have had a couple of cracks, but they held our pictures and paintings that made home feel like home. The washer and dryer were loud, and shrunk my favorite J Crew sweater - RIP elbow patches - but they made me feel responsible for myself.
We were so lucky to have this little home for a year, and I'm so excited for the new tenant. I hope she'll use the closet space, the front yard, and the big front windows just like we did. It's hard to say goodbye, even though it's only been a year. Home is now just a house, and even though I feel a bit baby for admitting it, I'm sad to leave. Yesterday I dropped off my key to the landlord and may have held back a tear or two until I got to my car.
The current tenant can't be surprised if I show up wanting to sit on the floor of the living room. Just saying. It's my (former) home too.