Moving

 

Everywhere around me, every corner, every inch and every sound radiates the essence of me. The memories and stories these walls hold could never go away surely.

When I’m gone what happens then? If I can’t imagine the next person not feeling and sensing my own history in these bricks and mortar how will it be when I move?

What would be worse? Not sensing the previous owner’s history within its walls and having the luxury of feeling the walls are a blank canvas to make my own, with new memories and stories. But this would have the added insult of the knowledge that the next tenant, in my old home, would be able to just as easier clear away my presence in my home of 12 years.

Or the scary concept of moving into a new house and it not feeling like my own home as the feeling of a previous presence, with its own history and memories still lingering, but with the comfort that my own home, my old friend, won’t betray me by letting go of its memory of me?

What a scary concept both seem to be, or am I just living in denial that such objects could hold such important human feelings. After all what makes a home? Is it the bricks and cement which cradles your life, history and memories? Is it the items that are held within the building which has helped you live in such a comforting way? Or is it all in your own head, and the idea of the connection between the structure and items held within them are just the human way of connecting life together within a sense of grounding and being physical.

These feelings seem too intense to stay stored inside a single head; I maybe just over analysing a single thought but a single thought can spiral out of control. I need to wrap my head around this; it was my desire to move, my hopes and wishes for something bigger and better with more freedom to grow and move on from sad and hard times. After all not all the memories where happy, there have been quite a few which I would never like to relive again but they did all help to mould the person I am today.