You know that one house in your neighborhood that sort of speaks to your soul? That one house that, if it ever goes on the market, you’ve just got to take a look and maybe even a chance? Guys, mine is for sale.
It’s for sale, and it’s A SMIDGE out of reach. But it’s an insurmountable smidge. I always keep an eye on the market because I love houses and I’m nosy about stuff like this, but we aren’t really shopping yet. We want to save a better down payment and all the responsible things blah blah blah which is how I truly feel right now because come on, my house went on the market, and it doesn’t even matter because it’s an insurmountable smidge out of reach.
We went to look at it over the weekend and I of course fell in love at first sight. This is not possible for me with people but, man, with houses, I’m hopeless. It was built in 1896 and it’s all stained glass and built-ins and charming little nooks. My favorite part—the part that makes it mine (in my head, obvs)—is the little glassed-in room over the porch. I’ve slow-walked past this house so many times imagining myself writing in this little glass nest above the street. Well, I got to tour the nest in person on Saturday and let me just say that the ceiling is a three-sided pyramid made of thin wood slats that meet at the top like a circus tent. The whole thing is bright white and it’s clean and airy and open and I of course know that bestsellers would flow if I just sat there and wrote myself out, like I used to say in high school. That’s the kind of love I have for this place already, the high-school crush kind of heart-fluttering love—the kind that’s destined to remain unfulfilled.
I mean, look—I know I’ll fall in love again. But I think I’ll always have to file this one under “the one that got away.”