Moving boxes

The apartment is full of boxes. Everything I own is packed up or ready to be packed.

It's strange how little space a life actually takes up when you're not accumulating things as a way to prove you exist.

Anneka is at work. When she comes home, we're going to start loading the car. The move happens next weekend.

I keep walking around the apartment touching things. The corner where I used to hide when the nightmares got bad. The balcony where Anneka first kissed me. The kitchen where Romano made me tea and didn't ask questions about why I was crying.

I'm grateful for this space. For the people it brought into my life. For the person it allowed me to become.

But I'm ready to leave it.

I'm ready for what comes next.