Love don't live there anymore, and neither do I

I recently had to move out of my home of two years. My girlfriend and I broke up, just for the record it was her idea. Since it was her house, out I went. I once swore that I would never co-habitate with a woman again unless it was my house. Obviously that vow went unobserved. I loved her then and I love her now. I enjoyed being close to her everyday and adjusted to living with her pretty well. There were good times, mostly good times really. I am still not entirely certain what happened.

Probably the saddest sentence to pass my lips recently was "I don't live there anymore". Just like that I am gone, possessions moved, lease signed, new home, new neighborhood. The apartment is comfortable, I quickly started making it feel like home. But it is not home, home was where my girl and I lived and laughed and loved. Home is where I made plans to improve the landscape and finish the basement. Home is where my former lover and I talked about the future, a future together.

We decided not to burn any bridges this time around. I think we both feel like there was enough special and good about our time together, that throwing it all away seems a bit extreme, and sad. Surely there is something to save from that time. But I do not get to live there any longer, and I miss her most of all but I also miss the creaky basement stairs, the morning light in the windows, the garden and yard. I miss my former bed, the one with her in it.

This blog has "love" in the tagline, part of the content. So here we go, my 'readers' get treated to the play by play of getting over yet another love, learning to live in a new neighborhood, gritting my teeth and working through putting my life back together. I have done this before, so I am pretty good at it by now. I just wish I was home right now, the former home, the one I didn't want to leave, the one I miss, because the one I miss the most lives there, but I don't live there anymore.