Dear Apartment: You've been a lovely friend.

Ending any sort of long relationship: hard. Even if that relationship is with an apartment.

Saying goodbye to a dear and constant friend: also hard. Even if that dear and constant friend is a street address.

Closing and locking the door on a huge chunk of your young adult life, and turning in the key (while hoping for a security deposit refund!): melancholy, bittersweet.

So, it is with some difficulty and a melancholy, bittersweet spirit that I say goodbye to my beloved Edgewater apartment ("building B, down by the water, west of the pool -- sorry, it's not well marked!"), wishing its new residents as many cozy, comfortable years there as I enjoyed.

There were a lot of firsts I had inside the walls of that Apartment 350. Truth told, it was my first apartment altogether, so everything that happened inside those walls was a first, of sorts.

First cinnamon rolls baked in that kitchen. Discovered my love of cooking altogether and vividly remember spending the last $12.37 in my broke-single-girl bank account on butterscotch chips and baking soda and SALT.

First fruit fly infestation annihilated after surviving my first refusal to wash dishes on a regular basis and my first decision to revert to disposable plates, cups, and forks until I could bleach the bug spray off of my "grown-up-dishes."

First "Big, Manly Television" purchased and moved into that apartment.

First credit card account opened.

First car financed.

First corkscrew purchased.

First bottle of wine I'd ever bought was opened using that first corkscrew. It was horrible wine, but the bottle was so pretty. I saved the bottle and it sat on my window sill until I moved out this weekend and threw it away. Goodbye, first crappy bottle of wine.

First dates, first kisses, first fights, first cries, first "staying-up-all-night" phone conversations,  first breakups...all inside the walls of that warm, cozy, perfectly protective, beautifully sheltering refuge. No first "I love you's," interestingly -- those all happened somewhere else....interesting.

First REAL Christmas Tree (it stayed up until April and was -- eventually -- shoved out the second story living room window in dry, brittle little pieces).

First time I'd ever had space to appropriate an entire closet specifically for SHOES. This pad was a Girlie-Girl's Dream.

First drain clogged with hair that I was singularly responsible for creating and fixing.

Then there were the many's.

Many shower curtains purchased. I could never find one that I loved.

Many batches of cookies baked.

Many bottles of champagne sipped.

Many nights falling asleep to the lull of 520 traffic -- to me, it was as soothing as the ocean waves. The best type of white-noise, the type you get so used to, you have trouble falling asleep without hearing.

Many mornings waking up to cheerful little birds chirping right outside the window.

Many pairs of jeans purchased.

Many drawers filled up with cosmetics I never used (and, ceremonially, FINALLY threw out this week).

Many visitors "ooh-ing" and "ahh-ing" over the gorgeous view.

Many loops around the driveway looking for parking.

Many trips hauling groceries up the stairs, wishing parking wasn't so miserable.

Many mornings scraping ice from the windshield, wishing there was a garage.

Many summer weekends by the pool working on my sunburn.

Many afternoons on the patios of the restaurants down the street, perfecting the burn.

Many trips to the cute little carpeted grocery store.

Many gag reflexes when I'd open the fridge and realize I'd cooked too much for one person, and hadn't ditched the leftovers quite soon enough.

Many movies watched.

Many pop songs danced to.

Many blog posts written.

Many jobs. A few promotions.

Many afternoons walking through the front door, thinking, "I NEVER WANT TO MOVE OUT OF HERE. I love this house!"

Many lost pizza delivery drivers.

Many trips to "The Attic" for a burger and a Stella.

Many trips to Sorella's for a Bud Light and a horiatiki salad.

Many Friday night SVU dates with Christopher Meloni.

Many Saturday morning infomercials watched (because there was only one television channel I could tune in).

Many Christmas ornaments hung.

Many presents wrapped and placed under the tree (and then hauled out to mom and dad's to be un-wrapped).

Many New Year's Eves spent thinking, "Well that didn't really turn out like I planned...."

Many birthdays celebrated.

Many throw pillows purchased. I could never find quite the right combination.

Many loads of delicate stuff washed by hand and hung over the shower curtain to dry. And then in front of the open window when that didn't work quickly enough. And then in front of the hairdryer because it was still taking too long and a handful of quarters for the washing machine seemed like too much.

Many bikinis worn by the pool.

Many pedicures balanced on the edge of the bathroom sink.

Many spins around and around for the final "butt check" in the full length mirror before leaving the house.

Many pairs of pants hemmed by the light of Nip/Tuck episodes.

The list could go on.

I spent nearly a decade and the better part of my twenties inside those walls. When all else might have been up-in-the-air, confusing, disappointing or painful, unlocking the front door and walking into my Girl Cave was a constant comfort.

Those walls saw me cry.

Those walls saw me lip sync in my undies.

Saw me try on fourteen outfits before leaving for work in the mornings.

Saw me try on thirty two outfits before my first date with "this cute guy I remember from junior high."

Saw me eventually give in and wash those dishes, or take out that trash, or get up early on a Saturday to get in all of my "errands/shower/laundry before 9:57am so I could snag the BEST lounge chair by the pool for my 6 hour sunbathing shifts.

Saw me gain weight, lose weight, cut my hair, color my hair, dash out the door or stay in bed all day.

So, I'll miss this place.

That said: it's time to make some new memories inside some new walls. I'm looking forward to the next firsts. Our first home purchase. The first garbage disposal in nearly a decade. Having our own family soon, and creating a new home for ourselves and eventually our  kiddos and watching them make their own memories inside of our own new walls.

But every time I drive past those old, brick buildings, I'll still probably wave, and feel just a little wistful, a little melancholy, because there's so much of me etched into those walls.

Bye, house.