Yesterday, I met a woman for coffee in downtown Princeton. It was a nice day (about 60 degrees) and there was nowhere to park so I hustled down to the side street my ex-in-laws used to live on to park there. They do not live there anymore, but it is weird every time I walk past that house to think of my personal history that lives there. I got engaged in that house. I mourned my father-in-law’s passing in that house. I pushed my nieces and nephews on the swing in the backyard (which does not appear to be there anymore) and sorted their Christmas presents before they arrived to open them each holiday season. I lived there for a month after my ex-wife and I moved here all those years ago. And yet, I felt nothing walking past it. No pangs of nostalgia. No reminiscing of those times. It is like all of that happened to a different person. To look at it now, it is just a house.
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