Painting over the past

This weekend has possibly been the most tiring of my life. Saturday AM I got to the flat I usually rent out, painting and well, painting.

This morning (still there) I was on the phone standing in what used to be my bedroom and trying not to lean against the wet wall, when I noticed that there was a patch untouched by the magnolia paint. After the initial thought of ‘Better get that later’, I then started to think about all the memories that I had spent my weekend painting over.

That sounds really corny!

It wasn’t quite the cliche of as I put on the paint it was like painting over my memory, no, but it was odd standing there. There was just this moment after seeing the patch of unpainted plaster that then I glanced down at the carpet. It’s an awful thin purple which never matched the room and still doesn’t.

Suddenly I saw this photo of my friend that I took as she stood in the doorway ready for a night out. It seems like so long ago, but such a part of my life even though I only lived in the place for two years. Maybe it’s because every room was so filled with things that made the flat mine and my husband’s, the bedroom least of all actually. Now everytime I visit, it doesn’t seem like mine (maybe the kitchen and bathroom slightly) because a home isn’t just the walls and floor – it’s the furniture and trinkets, the photo frames and ornaments.

In that random moment as my the image of the photo of my friend popped into my mind, it kinda felt like mine again.

I haven’t lived there for two and a half years, yet everything there seemed so familiar. I guess the area always will, but maybe next time the flat won’t. It’s all just a blank canvas now for someone else and their life. For however long their tenancy is!

~ Persephone M

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