(Official) Change of Address.
Safeguard all that is important to you. Take your yellow curtains with the lace silhouettes down. Neatly fold your clam-colored sheets and the quilt your mother gave you for your birthday and place them in a cardboard box. Press your fingers to the spine of each beloved book and carry them to the elevator. Place them in your backseat. Glance at the mailbox with the tiny numbers and your name written on a wrinkled piece of yellow paper. Disassemble the cradle of sleeping bones. Pack it up, pack it up, pack it up. Withdraw your possessions into protection. Not a trace of you remains here. Do not be afraid when you close the door to a hollow room. Slink to your knees inside your loft that smells like fabric softener, your loft of scattered underwear and exposed bricks. Count the neatly stacked boxes of buttons and threads and bubble-wrapped ceramics. Feel your lover's hand slide into yours and squeeze. Become cognizant of that feeling- that sedated, placid, extremely blissful feeling associated with home. Feel a smile spread across your face and the laugh lines in the corners of your eyes crinkle because your eyes are smiling too. These boxes mean something to you, but not what they used to.