5 days pre move-in,
I stand in this apartment, cleaning,

Scrubbing,

Turning a mid-grade apartment in to a cozy home, something you know I’ve done many times before.

I keep hearing a click at the front door, and every time I turn around, I expect you to be standing there,

But all I’m met with is a view of the park, completely unblocked with the body of somebody that I miss.

I got the patio furniture today. And I put it together myself.
It took me two hours, but I did it.

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that you would probably be proud of me.

Maybe not, though.

As I stood over the sink, being abrasive with the stove knobs and “Goo-Gone” I remembered I’m not supposed to wear my ring when I’m doing stuff like this.

It’s fine, I checked.

And I put it back on.

Having it off feels foreign,

Just like not being able to turn around and tell you about how much of a headache this **** is giving me.

I’m starting to wonder if I came here to clean, or if I just wanted to cry in peace.

It’s 8:45pm, and I wish that you would find your way to my front door.