...of charm and strange: the blog

It's almost 11 PM on the last night I will ever spend in this apartment. Luke is finishing the last of his packing (which includes all the plates, bowls, and silverware, so I'm looking forward to drinking my cereal out of an old Slurpee cup tomorrow). What little of my belongings are still here have been gathered in a corner in the bedroom. They look so small and pitiful next to Luke's massive piles of boxes, and I'm reminded just how much of everything we owned was his. I'm working on conning him out of some of his stuff, though, because he's not going to have room for all of it in his new bedroom: "Oh, Luke, you won't have room for that entertainment center in your new apartment, but you could store it in my bedroom at home if you want. I am just that giving."

When it comes to days like this -- "Today is the last day of _____," or "Tomorrow, _____ will be over" -- I can never wrap my mind around it and even at this very second, it's impossible for me to believe that after tomorrow, Luke's and my relationship will truly be over. Maybe not forever, but for a significant amount of time, it will be over. We can't kiss, or sleep together, or have sex with each other anymore. Personal boundaries will have to start applying once again. We'll have to refrain from most types of physical affection, because remaining in that gray zone will only make it that much more wrenching when one of us starts seeing someone, or gets over the other, or grows uncomfortable with that stuff and politely requests that it stop.

Tonight, Luke and I held each other and professed that we weren't ready to this, not for real. Not so soon. Not so extreme a separation. But we made this decision almost a month ago, and the process is too far in motion to stop it. It's not so obvious to me anymore that we're doing the right thing.

Tomorrow, everything will be different.