this is not a rough draft.

"Something's wrong with the coffee maker." B looked at me seriously. Because, of course, this was serious business.

"What? What do you mean?" I asked.

"It's not working."

"It's not working? Well, why? It's not old."

"I know. It's not. We got it for as a wedding present."

Yes, we did. SEVEN years ago. It was in fact, a very good coffee maker that finally sputtered out it's final grind. B and I have been discovering that seven is the magic number. The magic number when everything you received as a wedding gift--appliance, towels, or artwork--starts to fall apart. I assume that it's because of the belief that by now, you could buy yourself whatever you needed. Or by now, you have finally found your taste and have discovered that the mod knife set sitting on your kitchen counter isn't really shabby chic like the rest of your house.

Basically, there's an expiration date for these things.

Today, we got a new expiration date. Our house in Alabama closed, and it's not ours anyone. We have so many mixed feelings about this--we're sad, relieved, nostalgic, and more. I know every bump in the backyard. I know how the air-conditioned sounds like when it clicks on. I know the silence of the neighborhood and how B's car sounds when it's driving up the street. I almost can't write any more details about it because it sends me into ridiculous spiral of depression. Our little home was a refuge from the world, and like everything else in the world, it finally expired as ours.



I was surprised how attached I'd be to it. I'm still surprised that it's still not ours. But, it's really a reminder, just like our little coffee maker's expiration, that this is not our home.

We are made for bigger and better. We are set apart for Those who don't fail us. We are chosen for a place of forever.

Oh, and as for a coffee maker, I would just like to recommend the Rival brand. It lasts a whole seven years.