The Apartment.

I keep finding and losing you in places. I drove past our old apartment today. It was never really ours, but I like to think that it was. 

So many memories came flooding back. Four years worth to be exact.  It was the place we had our first movie date, where you first cooked for me and I for you. It was a place where we held house parties every weekend, where we played Xbox for hours on end, where you told me about yourself, where you painted my nails because you used to do that for your mom. The place where you broke my heart.

We met at College. Both doing law and in all the same classes. I remember the first day I saw you, you asked me to show you around because you weren’t from around here. That night, I took you out to my favourite bar where we met my friends and danced the night away. You couldn’t take your eyes off of me. I wonder what changed. 

I became best friends with your twin brother. Everything was great. I woke up to you whispering “I love you” in my ears, I acted as if I hadn’t heard. For my birthday, you hid Thomas Sabo charms in my car and let me find them when you weren’t around. Our apartment was next to a mall and when it rained and we forgot an umbrella, you’d make a run for it and double back to get me. 

The first year together, I knew I wanted to marry you. 

You showed me off to all your friends and even sent my selfies to your mom overseas. My family loved you too. It’s amazing to think that it all ended two years ago. Honestly, don’t know what changed. I came home one day to find the wine in the fridge with two glasses in the sink. We had the same friends. I knew none of them had been over. I dismissed it. Then I kept asking you to see this movie with me. It was a random love story, can’t remember it now but you refused. I borrowed your phone and then I saw the messages. It broke my heart “Come over” “It’s far” she said. “It’s okay, I’ll pay for your cab and we can go watch a movie (the same damn movie)” she says “okay” and she brought a friend. When I came over the next morning, he washed the sheets.

It sounds pretty tragic now that I type it out but it was the greatest romance of my life.

In the end, he had to leave to be with his mom. I understood. Sometimes he texts me to see how I am. I don’t tell him that I can’t sleep most nights. I don’t tell him that I think about our baby all the time. I don’t tell him the truth. 

Isn’t it funny how memory consumes you?

2 thoughts on “The Apartment.”

  1. You write with such poignancy that even sad memories can be beautiful and I believe there is nothing wrong with reflections which become a learning process into the future as we live in the moments of reality.

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