My Favorite Place

It’s been two years and four months since I first stepped foot in here. I look around and all I see are memories.

The walls used to be white. We spent a whole weekend painting them “By the Sea” blue to help give the house a more coastal feel. I hated painting, but I loved getting to talk to him for hours without interruption. It looks smaller in here now, but it feels warmer.

I’ve had the couches since I moved out of my parents’ house. They’re worn out, but they make do. One has become my second bed. I sleep on it when I’m sick. I do my work on it. It’s where I go to cry at night. I eat on it because we don’t use the table. And on occasion, it becomes our place to fall into when we love each other so much we can’t make it to the bedroom.

The rest of the furniture is new, though. We got rid of my old things and replaced them with our things.

He says I’m an “end table person.” The end table I use is covered with things I use often. There’s medicine, a candle, chapstick, and even salt. I never move them because I know I’ll need them.

My plants scattered around are sometimes the only things that keep me going. They remind me that growth is always possible and that I can come back from anything.

The lights are still twisted around the lamp from Christmas. We never turn them on, but we’ll probably never take them down.

Our books, notebooks, and planners are under the coffee table now. We keep saying we’ll get them out, but that rarely happens. We just keep it organized so no one else knows.

We spent our first anniversary in here because I was too sick to go out. I was so afraid of disappointing him, but he was happy to watch TV with me all day. It was worth it.

We’ve been in here through all the ups and downs together. We’ve made both big and small decisions in here. We plan our lives in here. This is my favorite place on Earth.