Tuesday, May 3, 2011

The Part With The Apartment On The Border

When we first got together, Doricha and I knew that we had no future. So we dreamed.

It started small. I'm pretty sure every couple has a little dream that's like, "Man, if we could just get a place of our own, we would be golden." And we were just the same way. We just wanted a little place of our own.

I remember one night in particular where it got really elaborate. We were just laying in bed together talking late into the night while we cuddled. 

I love doing that.

It's on the border of France and Spain, because I speak Spanish and she speaks French. In a town that's mostly not on the map, idyllic. It has a school that needs someone to teach all the performing arts, that's my job. And she composes brilliant things that sell for a bajillion dollars from our home.

It's always sunny and summer.

Our apartment is above a bakery, so when we wake up in the mornings we can smell fresh baked bread. We're friends with the baker, so at the end of the day he gives us the things that didn't sell that he can't save. And sometimes we sit and talk with him, because we really are friends.

I think he has a nice cute little wifey and some sweet little kiddies. And the whole town loves him because he's a phenomenal baker.

The apartment itself is, just like the town, perfect. Not so big that we lose each other in it. But not so small we're tripping over each other. Two bedroom, but one of the bedrooms is Doricha's office. Maybe her office is also the music room. Maybe we have a music room also.

Gorgeous kitchen. I don't like to cook, but she does. She follows about twelve food blogs. (That's not part of the fantasy. That's real.) And so we spent all the money from a big commission once upon a time getting us a fancy kitchen.

Our bedroom is my favorite part to imagine. It has a balcony with French doors. And I always picture these super cheesy white curtains that blow in the wind. Summer wind. We have a great big bed. So comfy. We blew our whole fortune on an expensive bed.

That apartment that we dreamed up has become a sort of mental escape. When I just can't take the real world anymore, I retreat to the apartment on the border and give it some furniture or decorate it a little.  And she is always there.

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