moving boxes

Bubble wrap squeaks as I wrapped each bowl, each glass with care, the packing tape giving us a long screech every minute or so. Unscrewing chairs, coming apart piece by piece, leaning in an organized mess against the wall. The dog slept in the middle of the madness as we separated the past year of our lives into boxes.

This is where we ate pancakes on the weekends.

Recent memories that already feel like ancient history play on my mind as we break down our dining set. Disassembling our current lives.

Hauling our enormous couch out the door frame, trying to compute the number of hours spent curled up on my favorite cushion, hours alone watching movies, laying with Pebbles, hours hosting parties, the same friends coming back to its cushions time after time, the couch in the center of it all. These are the same friends who carry this couch to its next home.

In a couple short weeks these friends will stay here, keeping the stories safe, while we find a new place in the world, just us. Eventually, we will find new people to laugh with, lug furniture with, sit around a fire with. But, we will always remember these people, the first people to know us as us.

Our first year of marriage sealed in these 7 boxes, full of the menial, yet meaningful items that make our days go by, showing us how little we actually need to be happy.

In one day this organized chaos will be systematically removed and loaded onto a truck, then a boat, then a port, then our new home. Our house will echo in the emptiness, the end of this chapter.

It tastes bittersweet, the end of these golden days, but as Josh and I lay on our bed in the middle of the living room, our lone piece of furniture, boxes scattered around us, we know there will be more golden days to come.

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