Lily Pad

I steadily sweat as I stood in the corner of my empty soon-to-be former studio apartment, appreciating the late afternoon sun stream through the windows as tears streamed down my cheeks. I remembered all of the moments I had in these few square feet, in a building whose age was the source of both its indelible charm and relentless hassle. In the summer it could be so hot, but in the winter it could be so cozy.

This place was the lily pad I landed on after barreling down the highway in a U-Haul from New York. It was my classroom, my gym, and even my living room one Christmas morning. It was where I forged a new life for myself in a time when life felt at its most fragile. And it was where I fell in love.

In my meticulous cleaning of every reachable inch, I thought about what the next tenant might find useful. Hand soap? A paper towel roll? My small garbage can? It was a utilitarian and emotional negotiation. But the more objects I considered, the less any of them made sense.

Sometimes the most beautiful gift you can give someone is a blank slate.