Article written by Alex Wilbur
Illustration by Suhani Kapadia
This article was originally published in ‘Vestige’, Bossy’s 2023 print edition.
The house bustles. The two windows in the front room are uncovered, allowing the late afternoon sun to share his light. Stacks of boxes line the white walls, the smell of the fresh paint from the recently completed renovations still lingering in the air. People move in and out, taking the boxes with them. Carrying away our lives that were now entrapped by cardboard. Air from the open-door breezes through the room and bring with it the sharp scent of the rustling eucalyptus trees that stand outside the house. Pieces of hair that had escaped my braid blow into my face. There is movement surrounding me.
Yet here I stand, still.
For this is not only a house we will be leaving behind, it is a life. These walls hold memories, our paths caved into the ground. Our marks have been left on this house, permanent and irremovable. Remnants of my 15- and 16-year-old self will forever remain here. I have experienced so much in this house—I lost my Dad, I discovered more of myself, I had my first kiss, and I grew. It is all this and more that I now have to say goodbye to. I hear the house standing still. Despite its current inhabitants, I hear its silence. It’s silence that I match; one that marks the end of something. Darkness falls upon the house, and it is with this sense of goodbye, that the doors fall shut. Leaving us all outside. All that remains are the shadows we leave behind.
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