I never liked the flat, never really felt like at home. I always knew I was there just as a guest. To start with, it was his choice, not mine.

“It’s really convenient over here,” Jake said when he was showing me around for the first time. I loved him when he looked so excited. “Close to bars, close to everything.”

40 min to my work. 60 min to the theatre. 45 min to my closest friend. All required at least one change of bus or tube. It was everything but convenient.

But I nodded eagerly, full of hopes of the bright future.

“It’s great for our lifestyle.” He continued.

Sterile modern loft flat. Huge empty space threatening to eat me alive. The sleeping area upstairs provided little to no privacy.

It was a great flat for a party.

It hasn’t grown on me.

I made myself a coffee from the expensive coffee machine. As I was sipping it I looked around. My bag stood in the middle of the room. A good guest doesn’t stay for long. Even with all Jake’s things the flat looked empty. Though without my things it became more elegant. Sterile, but chic.

My eyes stopped on the picture of sunflowers. It was rather small, just about 15 by 15 centimeters. It was bright yellow and white and green. It was rather hidden in the corner. You could really see it only from the kitchen corner so many people simply overlooked it. I almost forgot about it. It was the first picture I ever bought when I was backpacking in Italy when I was nineteen. It was fun. Life was fun. Jake never liked it. I walked across the flat and took it down.

One last look around. Then I picked up my bag, the picture and the only plant that survived Jake’s care. It was actually his, but it didn’t deserve to die.

I sighed. Three years of building of life.

I walked out and locked the front with my key. I was supposed to leave it behind in the post box in the corridor for Jake. It felt warm in my hand. It was mine. I could just tell him I lost it. I started to cry. I picked up everything again, quite a balancing act. I couldn’t let go of the key even if my life depended on it.

I walked down the corridor slowly, carefully balancing all the things I was carrying.

One flight of stairs. Then another. Another. Another and then yet another.Finally, I was on the ground floor. I could feel the mascara running down on my cheeks.

I closed the main door, knowing that was my last chance to go back. I didn’t have the key to the front door anymore, only to our flat. I took care to close it slowly as not to damage the polished metal the doors were covered in. The key was now burning into my hand, urging me to do anything to go back. I almost dropped my picture. I was never good at carrying too many things.

I could see myself in the polished surface of the door. I was a mess, broken inside. If anyone touched me I would shatter into pieces like a porcelain doll.

And then I looked at the picture. That picture was bought by a girl full of life. That was me. I looked back at my reflexion. That wasn’t me. I looked back at the key. It was trying to tie me down. I needed to let go of it.

I dropped it. I wanted to pick it up, but then I saw the drain entrance. It was lying just a few centimeters far from it. I could have picked it up. I could have left it in the post for Jake. I didn’t. I just kicked it in. Then I started to smile. I still remembered the girl who bought the picture.