The moving

A letter to my friends

I move a lot. At least a lot considering that most of the people I met lived in one city or maybe two. So far I moved to 7 cities. I lived in 11 houses. And I still haven’t figured out the whole “having friends that live far away” part.

I recently graduated and moved again. I’m four hours and a half car ride distant from most of my beloved friends and the city that I consider home. A part of me is missing. And don’t get me wrong. I love to move, I can box up a n entire house in one day and have it organized and ready to live in the next. The process of moving is quite easy for me. I would dare to say is cleansing and matches my internal disquietude.

And yet, the leaving your friends and changing the “Let’s go to the bar together” for “Call me so we can update each other on the news” is still annoying to say the least. My heart aches for the closeness. It aches for the “I’ll be over in ten, be ready!”. The tight, crush your ribs, leave you out of breath, heart warming hugs. It misses the Sunday afternoons on a city bench eating ice cream and talking about life.

And even though it was with a heavy heart that I left that town and friends, weight that makes my breathing difficult as write this, I would do it all over again. Because no one can take away the love we feel for the people that make our lives seem hole. But giving up the opportunity to meet other people that would make my heart grow further is something I’m not ready to do just yet.