August 17th, 10:32 PM
by Olivia Heenan
Such a weird feeling being trusted in somebody else’s home without them there
Looking at someone’s life beyond what I know
It would be odd if I asked the story behind the rooster rug in the kitchen
Or the inordinate kitchen table that folds out into an oval but right now it’s just a rectangle and I’m staring at the two half circles that hang down
It would be weird to mention the purple vase on the top shelf in the corner of the
living room
Clearly homemade but in a good way with bumpy sides and a painted green border at the top
I try to interpret things
The bookshelves stuffed with titles like Biology, Dessert Person, and Kiss The Girls always in my view
The truth is I don’t even feel right mentioning these things
They feel private even out in the open
I love homes
Not modern minimalist facades
The real homes with disorganized clutter and scuffs on the wall near the door
I think even uptight pristine neutral-colored homes have boxes under the bed or hidden in the attic full of colorful unnecessary things that break their code
It’s impossible to hide the glowing green energy that follows you around from the times when you didn’t care about granite countertops
My favorite part is that in real homes you can always tell you’ll be comfortable
Someone will likely apologize through frustration saying
“It’s an absolute mess… I’ve been meaning to clean up…”
But to be invited in and see the real living being done,
You start to think about what messes you’ll apologize for
Or how it will feel to invite someone to a place of your own
Yes, that home will be you and everything inside it will tell your story
As clear as words
It just takes some looking