I still haven’t  hung that picture

It’s sitting on the floor

You see, that’s usually the first thing

That I do when I move into a new place. I decorate the walls

With my photographs and art

And declare the place mine.

But I didn’t want this apartment

No, I wanted the other place

That I used to call


I wanted where we moved in together

Where I shared the same bed with you for 264 days until I finally realized

We were in trouble

The kitchen where we cooked

The couch where we binge watched all those episodes of californication and Home improvement.

The dining room where we hosted our friends and laughed and ate and laughed some more.

So no, I didnt want this apartment

Or to move in on the coldest day

In February. 

So those pictures   

Are still on the floor

The one I should hang above the dining room table that my coworker gave me, the coworker who I first cried in her presence while saying that I had lost my home

That you had been my home

My safe space, the safe space I dreamed about as a child

She gave me a table and chairs and hope she looked at my childhood self and told me that things would be okay.

And it is okay.

This little apartment. 

With its grey and white kitchen

And shower that always works

And laundry just down the stairs

But it’s not you.

And I miss you so much.


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