Sunday Scribblings: Goodbye

She takes another handful of books from the shelf and fills another box. Looking around, she remembers how, not too long ago she was putting that shelf together - one of the first pieces of furniture that was moved into this apartment. She remembers friends gained and friends lost. Major life changes to which these four walls bore witness. Few places have felt as much like home to her as this one. As she tapes the last box of books closed she looks around the room again. So much more to pack than what was unpacked years before. The stuff acquired through the course of living. At least moving gives her the motivation to release some of the clutter. The garage now only houses the boxes and furniture that will be loaded into the moving truck. Those bags of clothes that waited years to be donated to Goodwill have finally found there way to the car, accompanied by several other articles of clothing that have finally migrated from the back of the closet. The broken furniture waiting for access to a truck has finally been relocated to the city dump. The apartment is being slowly emptied of all but the bare necessities as moving day approaches. The walls are void. The kitchen cabinets cleared of everything. Disposable plates and cups will suffice for the remainder of the week. She looks around again, seeing not the bare apartment before her, but the ghosts of the past. All that has transpired in this place. The joy and laughter; the pain and tears.

Every beginning has its end. And every end is merely the doorway to a new beginning. And in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter all that much the dwelling that you call home?