lapetiteannie

[lapetiteannie]

In twenty years time I want to sit at a tender honeyed oak table. That table should be midway between kitchen and living room. Because in twenty years time I want to my living space to be open enough that you may never know whether you’ve crossed the invisible frontiers between kitchen and living room. I wish for my breakfast table to double as a desk. Piles of books in the right corner and cold chai tea leftover from last night’s work. I wish that beside the big windows that fill my space with warm light so I feel cradled by the sun for there to be thick bookshelves. I wish for the shelves to creak under the numerous volumes and for a worn in velvet armchair. But one so big that it could practically fit two people comfortably.

I wish for a chair just big enough for two because I will have no need for extra space. Because if I own two chairs or a small sofa, everyday I will feel the weight of my crippling loneliness when I sit on my side of the sofa or stare at the empty chair. And if my home is big enough for me to distinguish kitchen from my living room, I will inevitably feel the dread of forever being alone when I cross from one room to another. I wish for this the same way I wish for a large single bed. I could comfortably lay in a double but I know that there would be many nights where I would lay alone against the wall and I would feel the empty space beside me like I was missing a lung.

And if anyone enters my home, I want it to be inevitable that they would have to squeeze beside me at my dining table because my messy papers take up too much space. We would have to be close enough that our shoulders imperceptibly brush as we bring the mismatched cutlery against our teeth. And if we want to move to the armchair we will have to arrange our limbs in a way that makes sitting together possible, our hips will have to connect and you might have to swing an arm over the back of the chair. And if you are to stay the night I will only be able to offer to share my bed, but I promise my sheets will be crisp and clean. So as we get under the covers, I will apologise for being quite “ a star shaped sleeper” but the truth is I will wake aside you, rolled against your body, closer to you than the space of my bed excuses me for.

All this makes me sound desperate and unloveable, but I promise that people enjoy my company and essence.

And I know that in twenty years time I will always have some cookies in the cupboard and drinks to share. I will always welcome you in and kiss you on both cheeks at the doorstep. Music will always be on my stereo and the place will always be aired and smell of fresh linen and rose. So if you ever show up at my doorstep unannounced, please walk in and make yourself feel at home. Because what is yours is mine : my armchair is big enough for two and my bed is too.