I moved again. I dragged my mattress to the curb. I swept the floors. I scrubbed any trace of myself from the bathtub and the sinks. I walked back into my empty room. My footsteps were the only sound. The house is not mine. The house never was mine. I sat on the wooden floor and watched the sun go down outside. The light faded like any remnants of memories I had made here. I waited to feel some nostalgia, warm feelings for this clean quiet apartment. But it just felt like any other place I had been. And I was sitting alone on the floor of an empty house. It was time to go.
I left my key in the mailbox on the way out.