Moving (Pt. 3)

So I'm sitting here listening to some good, depressing music, still trying to get a handle on this whole moving thing. I was just sitting in the living room reading War and Peace, knowing that it would probably be the last time I ever get to sit by that window in that living room. I'm something of a sentimentalist, if you haven't figured that out yet. It all gets more amplified when it doesn't seem like anyone else cares. I want moving out to be something of a ceremony, a sacrament even. Everyone else just seems to think of it as just moving, what's the big deal?
I've been wanting to have a good weep over the whole thing, but it hasn't come yet. Damn manhood.
As I sat in the living room I got to thinking that leaving the house behind is like breaking up with a girl. Things will never be the same between the two of us. I'll never get those glimpses inside. I'll see her around, but it will be awkward. I knew her for so long, but now she seems such a stranger. She's seeing someone else now, so am I, but the memories haunt the both of us. Or at least me. Will she even remember me? Jilted. We're both jilted, even though I'm the one who's leaving.
Change like this just makes me too painfully aware of my own human frailty and transience. This house which was just always there, a silent pillar of my life, will no longer be there. 23 years, I just never thought it would end at 23 years. That's it. Seems like such a breath of time. Nothing. But growing up, it was always just there. Never thought it could or would or should end. That just never enters your head. This is home. Home doesn't change. Taken for granted, but in the best way. Trusted. Consistent. Now gone. Something that for 23 years was so real, will soon enough fade to faint memory. I'll forget the creaks. Forget which switch turned on which light. Forget the loose patio stone. Forget the nights shovelling snow, so much snow. Mornings on the patio with birds and squirrels.
As long as we had this house my childhood lived on. Lived on in the place, the land, the small piece of land on McIvor Ave. where I grew up. Learned to walk, bike, read, drink beer and coffee. Ran to from the school bus. My childhood lived here was attached to this land. Now it will pass as my memories of the land pass to nothing. And I'm shoved further into adulthood, now with no place to run home to.
But then I say, get a grip. It's just some grass and wood. Doesn't mean anything (like hell it doesn't! WTF). Home is where the heart is (Hallmark bullshit). But I guess it will be the people who make home home, eventually. For now though, I'm (dis)content to feel this loss deep as I can. Let it make me feel like throwing up. Let it make me want to kick something. Let it break me in pieces. I'll get back together eventually, maybe even stronger than before. But not yet.