Being in the apartment is hard. It feels empty, and there are reminders of him absolutely everywhere. Stupid things, too. his salad dressing. A stray sock. Pillows. A pack of q-tips.
That's what trash bags are for.
Sorry, I'm listening to my "good riddance" playlist and feeling a little feisty. I do feel for you (((hugs))). And remind me I said that later when I am having the same feelings.
