(because it has happened already and I need to overcome writer’s block)
These holidays, I moved into my boyfriend’s family’s house.
and he has moved out.
Presently, I write this in his new(ish) flat. I can still smell IKEA on the lounge. He is sitting beside me sharing a blanket and a sometimes affectionate nudge, while playing x-box and talking to his brother in a funny character voice. Listening to their dialogue makes me smile. The fridge is humming. Or maybe it’s the strange lights that the previous tenant installed…
…I have seen cockroaches crawling inside these lights. (another gift from the previous tenants – two 20-somthing-year-old brothers) I have a feeling I have killed over 15 cockroaches this week (yesterday I felt something unfamiliar and disconcerting (squish!) on the tip of my finger as I grasped hold of the beloved x-box, more have been discovered in kitchen appliances, and I keep seeing them scuttling in the corners of my mind). It reminds me of kafka’s metemorphosis (you know, that story about the guy who wakes up as an insect), and while I felt sorry for gregor and cried with his passing, I can’t quite make peace with the idea of so many cockroaches.
luckily (for me) I get to go back to my new home at night time. (but I am looking into pest control options. squirm.)