A House is not a Home

To my old apartment,

I saw you the other day. I won’t lie and say you looked good.  I know I don’t owe you anything, but I can still be honest with you.  You looked the same. Brown and old, just like my parents minivan, but with fewer exhaust problems.

I wanted to stop in a see how you’re doing. I know, it was stupid. After how I left it; the things I said, and the stain I didn’t really try to get out of the shower grout.  I knew I had no right to want that.  I kept my key but I’m sure your locks have changed.

I am not proud of this, but I wanted you to see me happy for once.  I can’t believe I would even want to see you again but the longer we’ve been apart, the more I’ve wished I could go back in time and change things.

You knew what this was!  It was a sublet!  It wasn’t supposed to mean anything!  You were furnished with crappy mismatched furniture and you smelled like corn chips and vinegar.  I just needed a place to stay until my fiancé got out of her lease.  But, with the depression brought on from moving across the country and being unemployed for 6 weeks, I spent a lot more time in you than I ever wanted to.

I went from “just sleeping” to living with you.  I spent so many lonely nights being angry at you.  Not for being my apartment but for being my home. I never wanted you to be my safe place and I never really believed that you could be.

Now I find myself in a beautiful home with the best roommates I could ask for: my wife and a one of my best friends.  The location, the design, the furniture, every aspect of this apartment is perfect for me.  I don’t just sit around and watch Netflix anymore and wait for my phone to ring.  I’m moving up in the world and I find that my time at home isn’t a purgatory for the rest of my life.  I’m happy in this space and I want you to know that.

I should have told you this when I left but you need to know: it’s not you, it’s me.  And also your loose floor tiles.

I can only hope your current tenant appreciates you like your rustic charm demands.

Sincerely,

Dan

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