Until We Meet Again

July

         

Dear Sarah,

I went home today. And by home, I mean the apartment that we rented.

I've been avoiding that place since you left. I couldn't bring myself to go back. I caught myself walking back to our apartment so many times, sometimes even making it to the doorstep, but I can't bear to open it and step inside.

I've been paying the rent, as usual, but I'm just not staying there.

My parents have been very understanding and accommodative but I think they're getting sick of me crashing at their house day after day, with the promise of 'going home soon', though I know I'm far from ready to do that.

When I stepped into our apartment, I was hit with a huge wave of nostalgia and I nearly broke down in tears. I wanted nothing more than to slam the door shut and run as far as I can from the place. I wanted to continue living in the fantasy that you're still here.

But I know I can't stop running.

I walked in and I forced myself to tidy the place. It was hard. So excruciatingly hard. I had to pack away everything that was yours, everything that I wouldn't need anymore. But that's the hard thing.

Everything remind me of you.

Sarah, please, tell me how you expect me to move on when you've left remnants of yourself in everywhere we go, in everything we do.

Sarah, tell me how I'm supposed to move on when I've left a huge part of my soul in you.

Love,

Blake