We’ll build a life together – move in after a respectable amount of time, into a flat with blue walls and herbs that we need to replace every month because we can’t keep them alive on the kitchen windowsill and abstract paintings we did while drunk on the cracked and cobwebbed walls. We’ll play scrabble with fridge magnets and we’ll hardly be able to reach the books on the shelves because of all the photos of us in the way and everywhere you turn there’ll be another reminder that two people have a life here, in the flat with blue walls.
We’ll have a dog – some tiny, fluffy thing named a terrible cliché that still occasionally pees on the carpet no matter what we do – and you’ll openly adore it while I pretend to be indifferent but sneak it scraps of food when I think you’re not looking and pretend to wonder why it’s gaining weight. And we’ll have a cat that’ll sleep between us and we’ll wonder how something so small can take up so much space, but we’ll never be able to bring ourselves to kick it off. And we’ll work our separate jobs and lead our separate lives but at the end of the day we’ll always come home to each other and our flat with blue walls.
And we’ll sit on the faded old couch with the stuffing leaking out of it and watch cooking shows or Friends reruns and poke each other in the shoulder or the leg when we get bored. We’ll cook spaghetti and the sauce will burn because your favourite song came on and you had to dance and obviously I had to dance with you. And I’ll miss you when I close my eyes but it’ll be okay because when I open them again you’ll still be there. And you’ll comfort me during storms and we’ll run through spring showers hand in hand and play Monopoly until 2am and build blanket forts in the living room and eat pizza on the kitchen floor. And it won’t be a lavish life, but we’ll love it, and even though the heating doesn’t work and half the light bulbs are gone, we don’t want to leave the flat with blue walls.
And I can picture this life so clearly and easily, watching you sit and glance around nervously in the little pastel café, and it’s with that in my head that I walk through the door, and the smile that cracks your face when you see me just proves we could have it, this simple, idyllic life in the flat with blue walls.
— The flat with blue walls