Monday, May 9, 2011

a room with a view

we would talk until we fell asleep.

into the blackness between us, our words would hang heavy on the humid summer air. sometimes, as sisters, you don't even have to talk for the words to hang.

i remember the crickets outside the window. the mauve pink floral dust ruffles. the overstuffed down comforters. hers was as mine, our beds identical. i remember the little window at the foot of my bed, the trees dignified outside.

on the night of my wedding rehearsal, i snuck up to our room. i went inside our closet, the one we wrote on with a magic pen that only shows up with a black light. the one that housed all of our clothes. mine on the top rack, hers on the bottom. where all our hangbags, church dresses and belts were hanging as they had been forever.

and i just cried.

i walked over to my little twin bed, pushed up against the wall, with my bible on the shelf above and my cheerleading portraits. fully clothed, i climbed inside and smelled the sheets. the worn pillowcase and the cotton.

save for a few short months my last semester of college, i've never had my own room. and i've never wanted it. i went from sharing with my sister to sharing with robert and pablo.

this morning, i woke early. i sat up in our bed, the moon high in the sky shining through the blinds. and i looked around me. at the man with his arm propped under his head and his covers snug under his chin. at the dog curled into the tiniest ball on top of the blankets.

and i sighed a deep sigh of contentment. i will forever miss my childhood home, with my boombox and destiny's child cds. my cardboard cutout of tom cruise and my dollhouse.

but at 6.a.m. this morning, i remembered. that any space shared is home. yes, any space shared.

15 comments:

Javid Suleymanli said...

beautiful pics :)

Unknown said...

You have such a fabulous way with words!

Unknown said...

very true.

love this.

k said...

this was precious.

Unknown said...

Girl, I was exactly the same way. We cried when my sister and I had to separeate our closet. She cried harder when I got married. I've always shared a room and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Amber said...

I moved around so much when I was younger that I never really had a room that I considered my own space. Now I share a room with my husband and pup too and its such a special place to be.

Oh and cardboard cutout of tom cruise?? You are awesome.

Unknown said...

I miss my childhood room but never had a chance to "go back to it" the way it was (and I'm okay with that) because my brother and his family moved in as soon as I moved out. Now my childhood room is my nephew's childhood room and I think that's pretty magical!

mary said...

I love your writing and so heartfelt! Thanks for stopping by my blog before! I'm off to check out more! xox!

erika said...

Sweetness. :)

Brenna [fabuleuxdestin] said...

I loved reading this post. You are a talented writer!

Brandi said...

I've actually had my own room several times, and I think sharing is better. I like talking until I fall asleep and dreaming what the day will be like aloud first thing in the morning. Beautiful post, darling.

katie [the bright life] said...

I know I'm a little late here, but I love this. Isn't it strange how places can really come alive because of the memories they hold? My parents moved from our childhood home during my freshman year of college, and I thought I might just die of sadness because of all that house meant to me...until I realized that what's really important is being with the people I love and learning to create memories in any space. Xo, Katie

beka said...

ohhh my word.
that's going to be me someday; sobbing in my childhood bedroom before my wedding.
i know the whole sharing thing; i've never had a room of my own either, and have come to enjoy it over the years.
*sniff*
but goodness, i love this post.
any space shared is home....so true.

Anonymous said...

I love this site it's so lovely,

viagra online said...

I would like to have a room like that. Keep up the good work and also keep posting.

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