Waiting to move

I’m sitting in an empty room. It doesn’t matter which room, because they’re all empty.

In half an hour, I’ll be handing back the keys to the flat that’s been home for four years. (For those of you not following on Twitter, Facebook and the like, we’ve moved away from "Almost Home" to "Nearly Home" on Foursquare – if you need the new address drop me an email). All the furniture has been shifted (slowly and with hassle!) to the house, the house with the garden, on a quiet cul de sac road, with space for everyone as the years advance…

…yet the empty flat has something about it. Just like everywhere we’ve been when we move on there are things about each room, memories of what happened, parts of our life that have to be left here as we move on.

Perhaps they’re not empty after all.