The truck is here and the boxes sealed and soon I’ll close this door for the last time. I hate moving. Because you always leave behind the things that mean the most to you. The tire swing that’s too low. The broken wind chimes I made in 2nd grade. The pouch of assorted beads made from all the necklaces that I’ve broken through the years.
So many memories left behind.
No one will ever understand how much these memories mean to us. I hate going into my new house. An empty house; stripped of all foundation but full of someone else’s memories. A house doesn’t cease to be someone’s home even after they’re long gone. We have all left our marks on the places we call home. And in turn, we have all left our mark on each other. I stack the last few boxes and I wish something could delay the final goodbye. But it’s all I have left. I don’t look back. Because I never look back. The years I spent, the memories I made have been sealed and forgotten like so many boxes.

Someday I’ll look back. I’ll look back
and start to find the things I left behind.