Because apartment 2F, my first “home” for three years after college, was a corner unit with windows on the north and west walls, my rent was $25 more than my neighbors. Even better than the additional light was the cross-breeze in summer, making the lack of air conditioning less unbearable.
It was where I learned the lessons schools somehow found unteachable. Budgeting, scheduling, accountability. The place I discovered my capacity for compromising on ambitions.
I didn’t have the responsibilities I have now, or the resources to satisfy them. A simpler life that only seems better when I regret my compromises.
She enjoyed his company but realized that enjoyment had become perfunctory, like watching a streaming series that had become predictable after its exciting debut.
She felt safe when with him. Safety meant comfort, and she feared the crushing boredom that often came with comfort.
When honest with herself, she knew demonstrating her love for him was more important than experiencing that love. It was like a spray-painted heart on a park bench, a signal to passers-by. A signal that would inevitably fade.
If she loved him, she’d have to sit with him on that bench.