Spain

Taking time to remember that this apartment, while only my home for about six months was home.

This is where I got to set up all of my stuff. The home for which I spent all summer looking for furniture. Filled it with my books. Took pieces of furniture from my old homes and put them here.

This is where she visited me. My porch is where we watched one of the most intense rainstorms I've ever seen and I made her dance with me in the rain. My kitchen where we danced at least twice, where we made our special drink, where she, within hours of being here, looked at me and said, "I could do this."

This apartment was where Best Friend and I crashed after adventures. Where Vert came to visit and I made sure that he could jump on my super high bed (that I made with my father specifically for this apartment). This apartment has held everyone I love, at least once. It's a shame it didn't hold them all at the same time, but they were all here.

This apartment is where I climbed up one story of stairs late at night and early in the morning, hungover, sick, exhausted, in yesterday's clothes, with cigarette smoke in my hair, smeared make-up, so many thoughts. This is where I never felt ashamed for the food or drinks I brought home-- and there was always at least one bottle of champagne in my fridge.

This dining room is where I would sit with Roommate in the morning, after she got home from work and before I left for school, and we caught each other up on our lives. This living room where I fell asleep next to my loves watching movies. This bedroom where I lay in bed, filled with thoughts of joy and pain. The window next to my bed that I would look at in the middle of the night, when I couldn't sleep because my heart hurt too much from missing her. This bed where I jumped on with people, dogs, books, and more often than anything, Chinese food.

I was only here for six months, and I'm so excited for where I'm living next. But this was a good apartment and it was home.