I spent much of today looking at photos of wonderful apartments and fighting the screaming ache in my stomach for somewhere better, somewhere I could call my own. It’s going to be a while yet before I can afford the apartment of my dreams, but for now, I can plan and imagine and fantasize.
It’ll be an airy brownstone, with brick walls and one wall that is a bookshelf, and bookshelves underneath the stairs (the stairs will be a narrow metal spiral staircase to a rooftop with a few of a skyline!). I’d have a Rococo era couch with robin’s egg blue cushions and ornate gold corners, and a glass coffee with copies of Lula and The New Yorker and strange little antiques and teacups.
There will be Christmas lights strung across each wall, and clipped in between on one side will be photos and on another side, scissors and skeleton keys will hang and when it gets really windy they’ll quiver and tinkle against the brick behind. Then there would be the couche so soft you’d fall into it and never want to get up with luxurious blankets
in the softest pastels.
There’d be lots of paper lamps hanging overhead and candles that flicker from end tables and shelves. There’d be a kitchen with a display of exotic teacups and wine bottles and tall dark wood stools that surround a small square dining room table.
There’d be bedroom with a fluffy bed, all white and falling into it would be like being swallowed by clouds of cotton candy. There’d be a canopy and big windows and curtains that match, usually pulled back but sometimes closed with the light just peeking through, a silken glow. There’d be a closet and a wall that consists of mirrors and a shelf with books and journals and strange little dead creatures underneath dusty glass orbs. On the walls there’d be sparse wonderful art prints and typography posters and at the foot of the bed, curled, sleeping, there will be a darling old english sheep dog named Sebastian.
What does your dream apartment (or house) look like?