moving day

(empty)

The very first day I spent in this house, I stretched out head to toe on the couch and fell asleep. I was wearing a long green dress, which I never wore again, but that nap was prescient of so many naps I would take in the same position, on the same couch, in the same place, for years, so many years that I wonder if I ever woke up at all.

The very first day I spent in this house, I asked, in honest amazement, “what’s that?”, never having seen a washing machine so small. That was before I learned to live small, to operate that machine and navigate its programs with ease. That was before I learned a lot of things.

The very first night I spent in this house, I changed out of that long, green dress and into a short, sleeveless one, equally green. I was transported up a mountain where I ate wild greens with lemon and red pickled peppers, chalky goat cheese, and hard barley bread that I thought was stale. The wine I drank turned the city lights into a concert of stars. It was all so beautiful.

And now, the very last day I will spend in this house, my memories are mixed, those early passions dissipated. I’ve spent a lot of time alone here. It’s one of the things the house was good for. I’ve also spent a lot of time wishing I was alone here. Wishing lots of things. I wonder what ghosts I will leave behind in this house where my life changed forever, and then, didn’t change at all.