My apartment looks very sad and bare. I’m moving on Tuesday, so as a crazy organizer, I’ve obviously packed everything I own by now. I’ve removed almost all of the personality from this space. Now it’s just white walls and beige carpet. Oh, and boxes. So many boxes. I’m not feeling that nostalgic, but I guess this was my first real apartment and I have lived here for two years. Maybe I’m not sad because I’m moving so close that I can almost see my new apartment from my current one. But, still, this is the place I’ve called home for two of the most dynamic and stressful years of my life, and leaving it means something.
I’ve always been big on making my living spaces my own. When I finally got my own room at age 11, I went all out. There was hardly a blank space on the wall or a surface free of some kind of knick knack. I’m more of a minimalist now, but the feel of a space still means everything to me.
I’m leaving my current space behind, but I’m so excited to make a new space my own. Though, I’ve yet to convince myself that the new studio is cozy, and not suffocatingly small.
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