I will soon be moving from the flat I have been living for the past 5 years. I have mixed feelings about it. I love it – I also know that it is impossible to stay there.
I walk barefoot and feel the scratch I made when I tried to move a big chair and rebuffed all of S‘s concerns that it will make mark the floor. I touch the dent on the wall where I tried to hang something with a ‘no nails required – no marks guaranteed‘ product. I retrace the steps of all these Sunday dance-in-your-PJs moments, sit on the green chair and feel all the tears from the heartbreaks that were shed on it, cast my eye on the walls that have absorbed so much laughter, talks, pain, happiness, deaths, births, and everything else the last five years offered.
I put my shoes on, walk down and make my way towards Cleaver Square. After a short walk in the cold I am there. I sat on the first bench when I broke up with B*; I cried on S‘s shoulder when F* broke my heart, the moon filled my heart while I was sitting on that one, I finished ‘The Accidental‘ by Ali Smith on the third bench, I stood under the trees and took it all in. I can safely say that every bench carries a story, every tree holds a thought; the whole square has been a very important setting for most of my life moments.
Today is it covered in a fog that makes the whole square look like it is floating on clouds. I would say I am leaving a part of me in the square, but I think I am taking a part of the square with me, as I am taking a part of the flat with me, every part making up a mosaic of moments that I cherish more than anything.