Farewell 1907

Farewell to the squeaky screen door and the busted tub faucet. My door that won’t shut and his that shut with a thud. Goodbye to no closets in our rooms and extension chord jungles. The kitchen counter tops that serve as a front row seat. The window AC with a remote control. The fireplace that is just for show. The new bookshelves we stuffed with books we haven’t read yet. The walls with no paintings…except for the one where the jogger has yet to run by. The thin walls that kept us up at night with the parties below. The windows that overlook Evergreen and the car that took forever to get towed, the man that ran from the cops and the church-goers that took over the sidewalks with their cars. Goodbye to the ceiling that you helped me touch. The kitchen where we got ready to go out with your sister. The back hall that looks into the other apt. The windows that see the “naked girl.” The refrigerator that has had green bean casserole in it for months. The oven that was used maybe a dozen times. The futon in the Fall. Goodbye to mile long walks from the parking spot we’d find after a late night run to Taco Bell—(shouting at each other in the process.) The spider mark on my bedroom floor. The couch where I made you watch Felicity…and 24….and Dawson’s, though that was short lived. The sounds of you being the “going out” DJ during “bar of the week.” Goodbye to the awkwardness and the watching from a far. Goodbye to the answer, “we’re roommates.”