There are places we own and feel good about belonging to because it’s self-determined. You choose a place and it somehow chooses you despite the mound of inconveniences urban hunts have become and how un-romantically city-living has evolved to be, though a city, the backdrop to your life, that imbues tone and plot and drama to the mundane, will still be one of your greatest loves. Exceptions hold to be true for certain places especially because of the sentiment you put into them.
I wish I could express in words the simple moment of sitting on a couch (that you paid for), reading a book from a library that stands two blocks away, as gauzy white curtains respond to the wind. Then again, I only know how to express this moment in form of an exhalation. The moment you walk in a door and say, “ahh” out of all the other sounds your breath could make. Only certain spaces can hold your breath so well.
An hour before our first party in my new apartment, my friend gave me the finest note that characterized housewarming at its finest, particularly because she’s a fine woman. It read: