so long, farewell.

Dear 35, Anglers Reach,

 Ive never loved a house that wasn’t mine, but I loved you as much as I could. More than you deserved actually; you’re bitterly cold in the winter, and you’re a nightmare to clean.  And your expenses were the only thing my S.O ever worried about.

The first day I met you, I was (surprisingly) stunned into silence. You were the biggest and most beautiful house I’d met in London.  You were one of the biggest and most beautiful houses I’d ever met – period. And over many months, you became my refuge.

T and I spent many hours in your kitchen. Implementing all the culinary secrets our mothers gifted us, proving the age-old, “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”. You helped us feed all the hungry boys we loved. In the evenings, you helped us bond over summer fruits tea and gingerbread lattes, and through that, I found a valuable girlfriend in T.

It was in you that I realised I loved the S.O. It was in you that he suggested we find and make a home of our own. It was in you that I practiced my readings out-loud, to your appreciative silence. In you that I wrote some of my best work, which will now shape my dissertation. It was in you that we survived the winter by downing shots of anything neat and marching into the cold to dance the night away. It was in you where I mourned my first job rejection. In you where I devised holidays, made plans and nestled dreams.

When spring came along, you bloomed. Literally. With roses and blossoms waking us up in the mornings, making us smile in yayness at how pretty you were. The S.O said you bloomed for me, that you blossomed only because I spent so much time and love in and on you; one of his rare instances of tenderness. I’d like to believe it. You bloomed because I loved you.

Today is your last day in our lives. We will never see you again.

I will never  again smoke in your balcony. Neither will I brew tea in your kitchen. I will never sprawl on your floor kicking butt in poker. I will never curl up on your couch reading Penguin paperbacks. I will never kiss the S.O at your doorway when he lets me in. You won’t be ours anymore.

I had decided I wasn’t going to visit you today. I didn’t want to say goodbye. It hurts my heart a little. A little more than that. I was going to send a note with the S.O to tuck in your blossoms. I curled up in bed and watched as he kissed me goodbye and left, to make you sterile and bare for the people you’ll house next. You will be void of everything to do with us – I didn’t want to see you like that.

Whether he did it intentionally or not, I will never know, but he left our keys to you on my desk. So whether I like it or not, I will have to come and see you, and give back what isn’t rightfully ours. Not anymore.

But the missing and the sense of loss will come later. For now, it’s only thank you. For being warm and pretty and giving me the closest thing to a family I have here.

I hope you keep blooming. You should. I will always love you.

Stay warm, stay pretty, stay happy. Stay you.

P.S Just be less cold this winter.


2 thoughts on “so long, farewell.

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