I had a relationship with a storage space that started 3 years that recently ended. After I told my husband I was leaving him, I started the painful process of gathering my things together to move out. I remember my boyfriend, who I was leaving my husband for, asking me why I was upset during the space of the month of my moving-out process. Irritation flared up inside of me at the question. I told him that I was moving out of a place that I had planned to spend the rest of my life. I had imagined when I moved all of my things into his house, that they would never leave. It was a sad and disappointing time, due to the leaving, but also a time when I was ecstatic to be starting my next adventure, in a foreign country with a boy I was in addictive love with. I am the queen of mixed emotions. My storage space was borne out of a need to store my life’s worth of things somewhere while I was living overseas. My saint of a husband even helped me move out. He borrowed his best friend’s trailer, and we, slowly and with defeated hearts, loaded up all of my things that I had moved into his house 6 years prior. We drove them together down to the city where my parents lived and where I would be leaving from. We moved my things into a small, non-climate controlled storage space. Then we had dinner together at a Mexican place. It was the last time we were a couple. This happened 3 years ago, and I have only seen him once since then, other than a few Skype video chats when I was in Asia. I told him of my plan to go overseas, I lied and said I was doing it solo because I had always wanted to travel to Thailand. Martin was so encouraging and happy for me, that I was doing something so brave and dynamic. My heart ripped apart even more and I cried so hard I couldn’t choke down the rest of my burrito because of the guilt I felt because I was lying.