So two years (yes, I know) after we split up, today I return to the flat I shared with my ex to clear all the things that I left there in my haste to get away from the breakup. I ran pretty fast – faster than I ever ran on sports day.
He is finally moving to a new flat. I assume he is moving in with his new girlfriend.
I am trying to look forward to it. It will be healthy and cleansing and …
Actually that is a lie. I really am not looking forward to 5 hours in a place full of pretty horrific memories. The only good thing is that I will have the flat to myself. Honestly you would think neither of them would want to be there, but everytime I suggested a time I was informed that D would be there. I would have to fit round her.
Call me strange, but I really don’t want to meet her and I don’t think I should have to. It’s not that I don’t respect it is now her space, it’s just that it seems to be lacking in compassion. It was strange enough to go into a flat that I had lived in for eight years and seeing someone else’s belongings where mine used to be.
I guess it’s insecurity on her part. It might even be curiosity…
Anyway spare a thought for me today. I have a window of five hours and sense of dread.