My neighbors are moving.

We’ve lived next to each other for over 12 years, and the family of 5 (only since a couple of months) is outgrowing their Amsterdam apartment.

So dad is packing the large Volvo, although most of the stuff has already been taken away by the movers, a couple of days ago.

Mom is probably cleaning the house.

In my mind I see the kids running around the empty space that has been their home for as long as they can remember.

Pff.

I feel sad, and a bit down.

And that’s actually kinda weird, because I don’t know them at all.

Uhu.

Our relationship has been about nodding, sometimes a raised hand and a casual ‘hey’.

That’s it.

I’ve never even talked to them.

And I feel lonely and blue just the same.

I feel sad and emotional because my head has instantly made up a vivid story about their move.

In that story, they go to a place that is much more spacious and much lighter, that is closer to nature, and where they have a huge sunny garden to entertain friends and family.

In that story, they move on to a way better location, an amazing new family home in the countryside, while I stay here.

It’s almost like they’re betraying me.

It’s quite cruel, even.

Leaving me here, moving on to the next brilliant phase of their amazing lives filled with laughter, because they know how to live properly and I don’t.

So now there’s a throbbing mix of mortality, aging, and lost opportunities.

At least that’s how it feels.

Fucked up shit, right?

Yeah.

So I decide that it’s enough.

And I back away.

I consciously move away from the story.

The sadness and loneliness pop like a balloon.

I obviously have some great moves too.

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(Photo by @pbanselme, for Unsplash)