Ten days left to go, the countdown starts.
What does it mean to say goodbye to a home of 20 years?
Will I miss the tired pleasure of the seemingly endless trek home from the train station?
The simple joy of being in a room that's all mine, lying in decade-old bed that's now fitted to my body.
Studying with beautiful Mao Mao sprawled over my papers, lifting an inquisitive paw to tap my scribbling pen.
The mad, familiar early morning rush route between my bed to my dresser to snooze the alarm.
Lazing around in the living room on a slow Sunday afternoon, watching the golden sunlight magically illuminating everything in it's path, glinting off Boy Boy's ginger coat.
All those dinners with those closest to my heart, the irreplaceable aroma of lovingly cooked food.
The everyday routine of the bathroom reading and long showers, digging around for socks or shoes, just suddenly doesn't quite feel the same.
The laughter echoes,
The memories sting.
What can I do but accept the passage of life?
Gently, I close the apartment door behind me.
