Journal Prompt: Describe your first apartment/house.
I adored my first apartment. It was nestled on the bottom floor of an old mill building, and I could see the river flowing rapidly right outside my window when the rain was heavy.
Arranged in an L-shape, it was a small, cramped apartment, with just enough room for a couch, coffee table, bureau, and bed.
The kitchen was so small that the stove and dishwasher, which were right across from each other, couldn’t be open at the same time. The boiler was in a closet that still smelled vaguely of cat pee from the previous residents.
That apartment came along at exactly the right moment in my life. I had just ended a bad relationship and needed to find a place that was wholly my own. The first time I opened the ugly green door of #137, I felt at ease: here was a place that was just mine. It was far from perfect, but it was all mine.
There are so many wonderful memories there: it’s where James and I decided to get married, where we planned our first big road trip, where I found out I was pregnant the first time, where so many inconsequential things happened.
Sometimes, I miss that apartment: the creaky stairs, the vaguely scary elevator, the hill that my poor little car couldn’t drive up in a snowstorm. It was a wonderful first home.