Goodbye Boyfriend, Hello Roommate

Let me start by painting a picturesque fairytale for you (fairy being the operative word here). I was 17 when I met him. Started dating when I just turned 18. Completely head over heels in love for the first time ever in my life by 19. Through the very early 20’s we were truly a gay role model couple. We were together for years, with very few fights (which seemed only really to begin when we turned 21 and began to realize how much we actually liked to drink). Then at almost 23, the moment we had been waiting for was finally upon us. We were moving in together! Could it get any better than this?
No. By 23 and a half we had broken up. After almost 6 long years, it was official. I was single again.
After pouring all of our money into this apartment, what were two recent graduates, making small salaries to do? Move back home with our parents? God no. There was no other choice than to just suck it up and wait it out.
I thought this arrangement was going to seem completely bizarre to outsiders, but I began to realize that this is a trend happening all over. It has become an unfortunate outcome of big city living. More and more gay boys, lesbians, and breeders alike are trapped into living with their ex until they can either afford to move out, or until their lease is up.
After a breakup occurs, there is nothing that someone wants to do more than get the hell away from that other person. When you are trapped living in a small apartment (and still sharing a bed in my case) you just begin to stew in your own feelings. To quote a nerd friend of mine, you’re thoughts are like DNA replication. The first couple of times, they are exactly the same, but after a while, they can mutate, cause cancer and kill you! Well, maybe that is slightly overdramatic, but you get the gist. I was so confused as to whether we were friends, would remain friends, and who, in the divide, would keep our mutual friends. Not to mention the daunting task of attempting not to sleep together, which almost never works out. It was probably the most chaotic, emotional time in my short life.
After 7 months of cohabitation, I was able to afford to pack up my things and hit the road. It’s been almost a week since I moved out. The day after the move I went back over there to pick-up some last minute things. The entire apartment was different. There was new furniture and accessories throughout each room, all in a different layout. The rest of my belongings lay clumped together in a sad pile in the kitchen. It hurt. It hurt bad. It was then the realization walloped me upside the head and finally set in. That was no longer my home.
No matter how much I was suffering, I understood. He needed to start over; to make that apartment his, not ours. I was lucky enough to leave the apartment we grew in and shared together for over a year. He was stuck staying there with the memories. It is still entirely too soon to tell if we can salvage a friendship out of this. I guess I’m giving it the same mentality as I have done with job interviews. I’m hoping for the best, but expecting the worse. Too bad I can’t collect unemployment for a broken heart.