packing sucks

so i'm moving. again. this time i'm just packing everything up in storage. its always a real emotional thing for me to move. i get attached to spaces and places very easily. i'm going to have to go through a lot of memories to move. pictures i've taken while here, books i've read on that couch over there, the way the light comes through that window and lays across my black sheets in perfectly parallel little tangrams.

but right now i'm procrastinating. i'm supposed to be completely moved out by tomorrow morning and i haven't even started yet. i realize that most of this procrastinating is not wanting to leave the good that i've had here: i love this neighborhood, i love the friends i live with, i love the memories that i've made here.

moreso, i think (as crazy as this may sound) i'm waiting for a love that was supposed to move from this point to another. in my mind's eye from the moment i moved into this place until this very moment that i'm sitting here looking at all the crap on my floor, i had always imagined i'd be moving out to be with someone else. and this isn't the case. and i've known for almost half the time i've lived here that this was not going to be the case. its over. and it can be no other way. but that is the hesitation: i'm finally mourning the death of a dream. one of those private little dreams that you want desperately to be true but that you don't tell anyone about because they sound so silly. they show how childish you are. in the dream i would pack these boxes and move to be with her. and i would be whistling, and still sad to be leaving my friends and a wonderful neighborhood, but elated, confident, and in love. its an old dream, and one i need to let go of. in a week i will be travelling again and discovering new dreams every day. i'm stoked for that.

but not yet. i want one more night. i'm going to fall asleep in my black sheets one last night with the possibility, however unlikely, that the old dream might come true. the dream deserves it.