i didn’t know it then, but this is how i felt, closing it all up.
i didn’t look over too many old things. i didn’t shuffle through many memories, or even think too many thoughts.
no, all that came later – comes now.
what i did was sit in my spot on the stairs and lean my head on the railing.
as with so many endings, you can say to yourself this is not how it was supposed to be – but just the same you know it is time to go.
i cannot say why my little place meant so much to me. not because i don’t know why. i know exactly why. i just cannot pin the meaning onto words.
but here i go trying.
the past six and a half years, and the life that has spilled beyond on both ends, have both wrung me out and sent me skipping.
and whether i was mourning the loss of nothing in particular, listening to songs in the half-dark light, sitting at the top of the stairs and casting my heart out the highest window…
or caught up in the thrum of laughter, of richest joy, over paper plates of hot food, of so many friends together at home…
that’s what my place had been.
for that lonely stretch of time – of hubris – when i believed the house i grew up in offered me nothing that i wanted – this little place was home.
so much of me happened there,
and i always thought the story would end differently.
i’m not sure what ending i had in my mind, really, but i was always standing on vague dreams of something different. but if there comes a time when you realize your dreams have died under you, then someone has to call it.
i know that sounds dark: words too gaping for a time like this, when – really – i still have another home to go to. one that is warm, where the bed is soft, where the food is ready when i get there.
so much of me happened in that place,
and i always thought things would end differently.