Letters From The Moon

Our Little World

I open the door.

I dropped my bags and turned around, eyes tracing the empty apartment. all there's left to see are the pale green walls surrounding me. I take a deep breath as a flash of kaleidoscopic memory hit me.

In my bedroom—I remember you spinning me around in the middle of the room while listening your favorite band. Our feet dragging around the carpet as we danced—offbeat—but it was where we felt safe; where we ruled our own kingdom.

In my living room—where we watched How I Met Your Mother until the sun creeped behind my curtains. We laughed at how fast time slipped off our fingers. We fell asleep unknowingly—woke up the next day all tangled up. It was our very own world.

In my kitchen—I remember sitting on the kitchen counter while you prepared dinner. Watching you try your best to make steak was the best scene in the world. The view of New York City outside was nothing compared to you. We ate the burnt steak afterwards—it was awful, but it was the best steak I have ever had.

I snap out of my daze as my cab honked by the driveway. It stung leaving our little world, but you left me first.

I took a deep breath—to deep that it hurt my lungs—I picked up my bags and whispered a very faint good bye to the place we once called our world.

I turn around.

I close the door.