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.