So we’ve finally moved in after weeks of tiring painting, cleaning, furnishing (we put together our own furniture!) and packing. Our place still has quite a way to go before we can sit down, relax and enjoy it, but for now it’s functioning amply.
As I told him, I’m still waiting to feel happy at the culmination of what I had wished for, for the longest time. It hasn’t arrived yet and maybe it’s due to the stress of planning for a life together. It’s far from easy and strips the idealistic romance out of the proceedings when endless important decisions need to be made with a consensus between two individualistic people. Compromise for us is a full time occupation.
And so I wait, a little impatiently, to crack open a bottle of wine, snuggle with my love and just let everything drift away. That, to me, would be coming home.
2 comments:
When people say 'Home is where the heart is', I wonder sometimes if it refers to WHERE the heart is, or WITH WHOM the heart is.
Loving the bit about the bottle of wine & chilling-out.
I think it is wherever the heart feels at peace, be it a physical location or embodied in a person, or best of all when its residence is made up of both.
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