the search

It's possible that the place is exactly what she's looking for. The vaulted ceilings, the red velvet armchair, the spacious living room whose vastness remains untainted even by Sombra, the massive great dane who lingers around on four lanky legs.

The room is tiny, but sufficient. At this point, she isn't so preoccupied with details such as these. She longs for that warm feeling of home, that intuition which she has been depriving herself of….

But it's only possible that it will work. She isn't sure…she feels lonely in the apartment. It's far away, the stranger who lives here is cold, shows little interest…

Your heart beats as you press the buzzer. What lays ahead could be it, and you've been considering this possibility since you made the appointment. You're already attached, despite the fact that it was never and may never be yours.

You climb up the stairs--rare to find an elevator--and arrive short of breath. Is it A or B, or C or D? This could make all the difference. You knock, hear footsteps, wait impatiently to set your wild eyes free…

And you're usually disappointed. It's too dark, or it smells funny, or who you thought would be a young peer judging by the neighborhood is actually an old couple who refuse to budge despite changing times. And the search goes on.

But if this isn't the case, if you actually like, maybe even love what you see, your whole body will already start to fill with disappointment, anxiously worrying that it may not be yours in the end, regardless of whatever efforts you make. You know there is a list, and you know this is an interview. You begin to sweat, you speak too quickly, say too much, you are completely transparent and the desperation intensely shines through. You obtain the details, leave feeling hopeful and scared.

You wait a few days to hear back. You nurse the pathetic, false relationship you have made with the place…fantasizing about making breakfast in the kitchen, hanging your clothes to dry in the patio, curling up on the couch to watch a movie in the dead of winter. You've already invited your friends over, they comment on what a lovely apartment you have. You offer them a drink, chit-chatting about the weekend's activity, and they relax in your cozy living room as you enjoy being host. It wasn't easy, but you did it. This is yours, it's perfect, you're inspired, the satisfaction lends to growth.

But this is you delusional. Growth is not an option, as you have no energy left. You have gone absolutely crazy, and you still don't know where home is.