If you guys haven't read Let Go, do read it here because it would give you a better idea of what's going on in this story!

Home doesn't always mean four walls and a cozy bed. To me, home is two arms, two legs, a head of fluffy, jet black hair, eyes that disappear when those cherry lips curl into a smile and a nose that crinkles when something is troubling.

Home is you.

I have long moved out of the house we both shared because it wasn't home anymore. Home was you and you weren't there anymore, so I guess there's no point in me staying in the house, right? 

I found a smaller apartment nearer to work but it would also mean that I have to face the sounds of the bustling traffic downstairs in the wee hours of the morning every single day. It's not what I would normally settle for because I appreciate the quiet and stillness in the morning air, but at least now I have something to distract me from thinking about the mornings where we would sit at the dining table and share a pot of brewing tea. 

I guess I've never been normal after you left. The first couple of months were filled with nights where I cried myself to sleep and days where I couldn't even find myself in the house because it was too painful to even be in there for more than I should. I gave so much of myself to you that I lost myself when you left. I realized that I can't keep going on like that in the next following months, so I picked up the pieces of my own broken heart and mended it on by myself. It's not that sturdy, but it's good to go. 

My friends were really supportive, though. They never left my side. To be frank, this apartment was found by my best friend; even the deposit was paid by her. It was the first step of me getting over you. It really helped a lot, because I stopped seeing images of us wherever I go in the house and stopped hearing voices of your empty promises blowing with the wind through the window.

At first, the move wasn't easy. There were so many things I want to take with me, like the bed where we shared our first nights together, or the oven that we went shopping for together because you knew how much I love to bake. But they were all too big for the new apartment and even if I really did find a way to take them with me, my best friend would never allow it. What I did manage to keep though, were the smaller items, like the keychain you bought for me when you visited Japan that still remains with my keys and the ring you first put on my finger on our first anniversary together.

It was also really weird to commute back home the first few weeks after the move. I had to make lots of detours to get back to the new apartment because I'd always take the wrong route back. I always took the one back to the house, like it's an old habit that's so hard to shake. Even now, I would purposely make a detour back there just to take a look at it and boy, it didn't even change that much since we both evaded the place. 

The new owners caught me staring at their house from my car multiple times and decided to come over and make some small talk. We're actually friends now and yes, that has probably made the list of "Worst Ways to Make Friends." But they're a lovely Eurasian couple, expecting their first born in the house. And I hope they never have to face what we faced a couple of years back. 

They invited me into the house for a cup of tea and I found myself looking for any traces of us. Before entering the house, I wonder if they could hear the screams I planted in the corners of the house after that few dark months of spending it alone in that place. But there were none of those now; every corner of the house is now filled with joy, bliss and sheer happiness blossoming from the roots of their happy relationship. I'm pretty jealous of them, for we were once such a happy couple, too. Too bad that didn't last for a very long time, like we used to promise each other.

I remember returning back home that same night and realizing how different everything seemed. I can't quite call this apartment home yet because everything is just so stagnant and dead. I can't seem to find a single strand of cheerfulness in here. As compared to the couple's place, mine is as good as being placed in quarantine away from the world. Sure, my place is close to the bustling city but the sound of the traffic is just...noise, really loud noise that can't seem to fill any corner of my apartment with the emotions it lacks. 

They say that home is not a place, but a feeling. I never quite understood that as a child, but I got my first taste of it when I first moved out of my parents' place after high school and the dormitory in college just didn't feel right. Not even with the presence of my overly-humorous roommate. Then I met you and things immediately fell into place. You've been the closest thing I had to home after high school. And I believe you don't just forget someone who gave you a feeling so much like home. So yes, I still think of you but that's inevitable. 

I think of you when I eat lunch, wondering if you ate yours too because you used to always skip lunch when you have to hurry and choreograph a dance ensemble. I think of you when I pass by the movie theatre and see a poster of that dope movie I knew you'd definitely love, wondering if you've seen it yet. I think of you when I switch stations on the radio and stumble upon 'our song', the one that we always danced goofily to within the four walls of our house. Other times, I just think of you out of the blue and wonder if you're thinking of me, too. 

But as the days past, I don't think of you as often. And I stopped wondering if you thought of me, too. I still tell people stories of you though, because you were, and probably still is, my favorite person. Those stories come out unconsciously, before I could even process what I was blabbering about again. Like that one time when my friends were talking about this couple who didn't talk at all on the entire bus ride home, I immediately thought of you and said, "I can do that, too." They looked at me with bewildered expressions on their faces and asked me how on earth that was possible. I remember shrugging and said, "It's okay to just enjoy each other's presence, you know."

It was like our thing to just enjoying each other's presence. We weren't people who fancied making small talk just to fill in the gaps of silence. Instead, you liked to grab my hand and hold it between yours, sometimes picking it up to examine it like it's something you've never seen before. That was our thing and I always liked to tell people about how we differed from the usual couples. I tell our stories like I had nothing else to talk about and when I run out of things to say, I repeat them again and again. But that's because you were like the best thing that's ever happened to me and yet some people just can't understand that. 

I hate it when they tell me to "forget him; he's just a boy!" But what they fail to understand is: you're not just 'some boy' . You are more than just "some boy who broke my heart", you were a boy who selflessly showed me how to love myself when I can't do it on my own. You are way special than just a bad title. There are no combinations of words in the world that can describe what you mean to me and I think that saying that you're home, is the best way to tell people what you are. 

Throughout the years, I had been asked by so many people, whether I hate you or not. And tirelessly, I tell them no, never. I never hated you. So what if you broke my heart? The amount of happy moments you gave me meant so much more than that one moment when you looked me in the eye and told me you didn't love me anymore. And I think that that's all that matters. Even though I don't know where you are now or how you're doing, I still hope all is well for you. 

Home doesn't always mean four walls and a cozy bed. To me, home was you but you're gone now and that's okay.

To be able to move on is the best feeling ever.

P.S. Sorry for the long wait! I've been hella busy with all the studying for my mid-terms and I can't believe it's still not over yet.