this is your building

It's funny.

Just now I was walking past my old building.

I didn't move very far away. I can see my old building from my living room right now.

Usually I forget all about it. My old building.

Even (especially) when I'm spacing out. Like when I'm having coffee in the morning.

Actually, I catch myself looking at my old building all the time.

I just slowly I realize that my mind has wandered. That I've been looking at my old building.

At the very windows that were once my windows.

At the very door that once was my front door.

Where I used to live.

So weird. Not weird enough.

Like part of me still lives there. Yet I behave like I never lived there at all.

How did this happen?

Sometimes I see the hippies that were once my downstairs neighbors. Usually early in the morning, as I stand out front and wait for my ride to work.

I see them standing out front - waiting for their rides to work.

And we never acknowledge each other.

With less than a hundred feet between us. As we wait for our repective rides. In the cold. In the snow.

Yes. We see each other.

But, it's just enough distance to ignore each other.

No I never really hated you. You got me out of jams. I got you out of jams.

I gave you some metal shelves. That one time.

And you were nice enough to come out when I fell down the entire flight of stairs.

That was embarassing.

Most of all, you gave me the landlord's cell phone number.

That was big. My furnace had broken and it was a holiday weekend.

The cell phone number. I'll never foget that.

Yes.

You were ok. I was ok.

But in the end, you rejected my request to use of your composte heap.

Which was weird. For hippies, I mean.

(and I would have followed all the composte rules to the T, too, you have no idea)

Then I caught you folding my laundry that famous day (later, in my post about you folding my laundry, I would change the ending for comic effect, but it turns out that life is never as funny as blog posts about said life).

As a result, I did not agree to babysit your millions of cats when you went out of town.

Fair enough.

We were neighbors.

We are neighbors. Forever, it seems.