Nostalgia in my Apartment

Some of the most memorable moments from when I was little, are those quiet, lonely ones.
That moment after my seventh birthday party when the house emptied out — when Momma was in the kitchen doing dishes and all the friends were gone. I remember so clearly that feeling of standing in the living room, remembering all the laughter and games and adrenaline. It was a different kind of stillness.

The same kind that occurs when you wake up earlier than everyone else. It was a calm filled with the tension of nostalgia.

Sometimes, that feeling of stillness and nostalgia creeps in when I’m in my apartment. The apartment I share with my ex-boyfriend.

When I wake up from a nap and dusk is settling in and I sit up, too groggy to really function properly. My brain goes into autopilot and I almost feel as though it’s seven months prior and I’m waiting for my ex to come home. It almost feels like all those other times when I napped before we had plans so I could make it through a night of drinking and rowdiness.

“And why wouldn’t we be waiting for him?” my brain asks. “We’re still surrounded by the mutual things. Everything feels the same here.” But it’s my heart that reminds my brain, just like it did when I was seven, that’s everything’s different. The people are all gone.

And even if he did come home, it wouldn’t be to whisk me away. Rather there are new adventures in store.

Once again I’m so appreciative for the reminder of how fast things change, how far I’ve come, and I’m so excited for everything that’s yet to be.

And this moment was quickly interrupted by a slew of texts from a wonderful man asking me to hang out tonight.
Life’s funny that way.

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