The 42 Clinton Street Moment

I stood outside in the cold by myself.  The 42 was still painted on a piece of cardboard, the entrance was still missing a door.  I stood there, and couldn't really move.  I saw the window, I saw myself on the fire-escape.  I was there, at one time I was there and I wasn't alone.  My hands touched the marble entrance and all I did was stand there.  I remember everything within that tiny place and I don't know why I didn't really feel anything.  It kind of felt like a dream, something that was so real but at the same time wasn't.  I looked up at it, walked passed it then came back and a part of me actually wanted to ring the buzzer.  I wanted to put my keys in the door, turn the key and see him there.  I wanted to check the mail and walkup to the rooftop where I used to write music.  I wanted to come in and see the garbage waiting by the door, the high ceilings, the gray couch, the oversized bed just so I could say that it was one big fucking nightmare.  But all I did was just stand there, unmoved.  I didn't really feel alone or mad.  I was sad, really sad not sad enough to cry but still just sad. 

I was at the old apartment.  The scene of the crime, the calm before our storm.  It's not to say I would change anything but its weird what you can and can't face.  This was a tough one to look at, I guess thats part of the recovery.  I guess thats something I took with me without even knowing it.  Its weird what memories one decides to store I wish more of them were worst, but what I took as memories weren't all that bad.  Within those tiny walls, it wasn't a train-wreck sure things weren't always ideal but within that space they were okay.  This was the last time we were okay and then all the sudden we weren't.  

I often walk past it and every time stop out front, does a part of me still think I live there?  Maybe theres a part of me still there.  A part of me that never wanted to leave, a part of a girl that just believed in something that wasn't there.  Its weird, I have no answer for it I guess its just part of things.  I still walk past it and stop even though it never was my place and isn't my place now.  So a part of me still wonders, why stop?