I can't help feeling sad each time I move, as if I were leaving a part of me behind.
Could it be that a wall, a door, a flower pot on the deck, a patch of sky visible through my bedroom window have absorbed elements of my soul and become an extension of my own self? Or could it be that my spirit has been subtly reshaped by everything that makes me a home, and I have become a part of that environment?
Mysticism aside, the pain of parting has made me, upon moving into a new place, keep telling myself not to get too attached to my new home. Which is impossible, of course, and I always end up feeling sad each time I move.
Still over the years the sadness in my heart has become lighter and lighter each time I turn my head for one last look at the place I've called home. I wonder if it's good or sad not to feel sad.