This Must Be The Place

My "room of one's own."

Photo by Andrea Davis on Unsplash

I go there all the time; for now it only exists in my head, so I can make it exactly how I want it to be. It’s not big, but it’s not cramped. It’s cozy in a way that feels like mine and feels like home. I need windows; I imagine big ones that let me see the street outside and the skyline farther away, that let the sun stream in and light the place, streak rainbows across the hardwood floors. I need to feel connected to the outside world. The neighborhood is busy enough that it’s not deafeningly quiet, but locking the door behind me makes it all go away when I need to. Places I become regular at: cafes, warm drinks, bookstores, ice cream, parks to go take in Vitamin D. The whole city is mine to explore; there are places I’ve never even seen before. Somehow it never gets old, even when it feels miserable. It’s too big for me to be too sad for long.

I eat off a little table or a nook, with only a couple of chairs. The refrigerator and cabinets are filled with my things, my food, and I spend a little time every night cooking things that will last me a few days or a week. Things that fill my belly and make me feel warm even though I’m here alone. I’ll probably wash my dishes by hand in exchange for having an elevator or laundry room in the building. The living room is probably an extension of the kitchen, but I don’t care. As long as there’s room for a couch I can lay across while I watch TV or read my books. Room to fit inside so I feel safe. A bathroom I can use whenever I feel like letting myself soak in the shower. I kind of want the furniture to feel lived in and comfortable, not sterile or too old. 

I finally got my wish for a double bed; something that feels grown up, in a strange way. I hang pictures of myself with My People, the ones I want to keep in my circle, the ones who come around and join me there. I don’t cover the walls in posters like I once did; instead they’re full of art, things that make me smile and feel like me. If I could I’d paint the walls yellow, at least in the communal spaces. Something bright to cheer me up, something bright to mark the new outlook. It’s modest but it’s enough because it’s mine, it’s the place where I’m creating my new life, my real self.