Hola. Thought I’d do a little post as I’m taking a biggg step next month and it’s feeling a little bittersweet, so I want to write this one down.
I moved into my current flat last year with a good friend of mine and it’s been my favourite home so far – which is a big claim because I’ve lived in a lot of places. We overlook the canal and our view of Beetham Tower is amazing. As soon as we moved into this flat, it became known as ‘The Palace’ (totally pretentious and only a laugh, but it stuck) and we felt so lucky. The Palace has been my tiny slice of tranquility (apart from the BLOODY GEESE) in this city and I’m going to miss it a lot. I’ve grown so much here and couldn’t be more proud of who I’ve become (excluding the fact that I don’t use my gym membership but I’m not going to dwell on that). My bedroom has felt like one hundred percent me for the first time in a really long time and I’ve felt able to properly breathe out in what feels like forever. There’s been zero anxiety or drama in this place, I love it so much and have never felt so complete and happy as I have done over the last twelve months.
When we moved in I’d been online dating (lol lol lol lol) for a while but I wasn’t about to let any old Tom, Dick or Harry into my little magic den so made a zero boys rule until I found someone I actually cared about. Enter DA. I wrote all about him on here and how I was scared of letting him into my life, but as time went on I came to realise that being with him didn’t mean compromising my sense of self at all. What a revelation. I’ve had the best time here on my own and also with DA staying over sometimes (a lot of the time) too. It’s honestly been a dream.
But now it’s time to go.
And I don’t mean it to sound as melancholy and dramatic as that because it’s so EXCITING, I mean, I’m moving into this amazing new flat (exposed bricks, hello) with the love of my life and we’re going to have the best time ever – but I know that I’m going to feel a little bit sad packing all my things up here. The Palace will forever be known as the time I chilled the fuck out and realised I am enough. It’s also the place where I gained faith and fell in love. I’ll always remember our religious Sunday hummus parties in bed, watching Love Island, Queer Eye and the entirety of Friends (it’s taken me 27 years to watch the whole series) and my favourite memory, when I prised his little drunken, sleepy eyes open one night and asked him, quietly, if he loved me. This was far less creepy than it sounds.
I know that this is the last time I’m going to be living on my own (now, I don’t want to tempt fate here but when you know, you know) and I’ve honestly cherished every single moment. Who. Would. Have. Thought. Me, the girl who once upon a time used to get so anxious about being on her own that she’d have panic attacks. So yeah, it’s not about being afraid of the future or being scared to move out – it’s more just about how much this period of my life has meant to me.
BUT I know that we’re going to make our own little palace now and instead of it just being my own cute/weird witchy zen den that constantly smells like a lavender meadow / burritos, it’s going to be ours. He’s already bought a fancy wine rack for our new adventure (priorities) and I feel totally #blessed that I’ll be waking up to my best friend every day. It used to make me cringe when people said that about their partners because I never really believed them, but here I am living it. Living with DA is basically going to be like one long sleepover where we watch shit TV, prance around, eat, sleep and get naked a lot. I imagine there will be a lifetime’s supply of hummus in the fridge and the occasional eye roll about me leaving wet towels on the bed – sorry, sorry, sorry in advance.
To top it off, our mates live next door (what the hell were the chances?!) and it all just feels like the right place at the right time. Synchronicity game still 10/10.
So, yeah. Bittersweet. But now I’ve written this it actually doesn’t seem bitter at all.
I am lucky.