Although I’m quick to dispute the concept of love-at-first-sight when it comes to romance, I’m oddly content to announce its existence in other, more mundane aspects of life. Such as scoring a new job, or apartment.

Case in point: my home of three and half years that I share with partner, cat, a number of not-quite-thriving plants, and some moss in a jar.  Sunny, but not sun-filled (much to the rue of the plants); colorful, but not overwhelming: this is a place that has been loved long before we arrived.

I love it now, in part because, surrounded by just the right number of tall, thin trees, it gives the appearance of height, yet also the feeling of safety, of being tucked away.  And oh, how lovely the paint color-choices of an occupant past.  How compelling that deep orange wall.