This old Riverside Drive home

My apartment in New York once felt like it teemed with life.   I had many guests and visitors, was active in the building community and friendly with all of my neighbors, and even when just the two of us (I was married then) were home alone, I felt vital and hopeful energy.  Each day was a reason to make something of my life, and those days returned as much life force as I put in.

The apartment will sell soon and the number of nights I spend here before it's gone forever will probably be counted on one hand.  

It is empty and quiet, and there is no energy from any source.  No dynamism.  I walk slowly down the halls and into some of the rooms.  When I stop for a second, there is no sound other than the gentle undertone of tires on rainy Riverside Drive.  Perhaps an energy-efficient bus or two.

No energy.  I will never share this space again with another human, and not even a pet...my beloved cat is safely with a sitter in California, and I will see her and hug her tomorrow night--even if she's reticent after my absence.  I know she'll purr and settle into my arms, and I will love the bond and her warmth and her soft soft fur.  She is vital, and I share that with her.  We are energy partners.

I have a few lights on here.  They don't feel bright enough to counter the stillness.  They don't fill the corners any more, nor to they erase the voids. I would turn on music but I think it would just cover my quiet tears.  

Once again, I think of "the snow.  The snow falls on the dead."

And sadly, as I write that, I believe I can feel snowflakes descend inside this deserted home that will soon be demolished and updated by some new owner.  I apologize to this space for leaving it this way.  I have nothing left to offer after the years of care and love for my apartment on Riverside Drive.   If this is a goodbye, know how much I valued you when I too, was living.  When you and I shared our souls.  When we both benefited from each others' strong spirits.  

This home that I've lived in for 29 years...you will be where I lived longest in my entire life.  You will be mt favorite place in my entire life, and ever shall be.  Thank you for letting me live here on Riverside Drive...your welcome doors and open spirit let me thrive, and your safety kept me strong and protected.  Now I need to fend for myself, without you, and that makes me cry.  

This old space, my eternal home.