down here, we're only dreaming
down here, we're only dreaming
oh, to be 21 again
Opening chords, drums kick in, acoustic hum warming me against the chill of the apartment. It brings me back every time.
Cold nights, light breeze, air still humid and thick. The days hang on to the last whispers of Summer, the nights making way for something new. It’s not quite biting, not yet crisp, but somewhere in between. Those beautiful first feelings of Fall.
Twenty-one and in my first apartment, an adorable little bungalow just off campus. It’s all mine, save for the boys upstairs and their joyful yells at 2 a.m, the careless way they clomp up the stairs in our shared entry. Up there, someone is winning. Down here, we’re only dreaming.
Quiet mornings with my knees tucked up against my chest, blanket pulled to my chin. In here, Autumn has begun. Pumpkin spice, apple crisp, every food-themed candle I can find. Cloves and cinnamon and the crispness of the morning air. The windows don’t hold anything in here. But they don’t keep it out, either.
Slate table, too much cream, coffee from a Keurig. His voice a gentle lullaby. Puppy paws tip-toeing on the hardwood floor. Routine. Something like independence.
There are cameras on the quad, I know because my mom watches me walk Sawyer every morning from 100 miles away. Online, anyone can watch. I wave to her. It's creepy, maybe, but endearing, definitely. She misses us all the way over here. I miss her too.
Flooded campus, work-study, a feeling I’ll never go home. Mismatched furniture made from hand-me-downs and yard sale finds. Florals that were never in, a sofa covered in holes, Christmas lights that glitter year round. On the fireplace, a replica of Titanic’s blueprints.
As you do.
Afternoons tucked away in the library, cinnamon dolce lattes like I’m an adult. Corners of the apartment I’ve made my blog’s HQ. One day, this will all be something.
Faulty stove, cheap plates, Elios for dinner again. A glass cabinet stuffed full of polka dot mugs, inherited blue glass, and memories I’m desperate to make important. It’s all so beautiful and fragile. I wish I could take it with me.
There’s an extra bedroom, but it’s only me, so I paint it crimson red, tack posters of my favorite bands, and hang CDs on the wall. To the side, a small table I cover in magazines, in dreams, in things I hope to make my own.
It’s my very first office, the only real office I’ll have for years to come. But I don’t know that yet. All I know is this room feels like me, and this apartment feels like mine, and this campus feels like home.
It is all of me, becoming whole.
I set out a polka dot mug, coffee pod for the morning. Tomorrow, it will be sunrise at 6 am, the cool of the city, as he sings me songs about love and the life I hope to have. Coffee with too much cream, and the sound of pitter-patter paws.
It’s all right there for the taking.
Recommended listening:
Favorite tracks: “Like Steps In a Dance,” “Blur,” “Introspect,” “Summer Tongues”
Omg. Every. Word. 🖤
Angelaaaaa 😍 the way you write is so perfect, I felt like I could visualise everything. I remember that feeling of having your own place for the very first time - exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure! I too had an abundance of fairy lights - I think they made me feel less alone!