I love the apartment. There is something very romantic (to me) about a small studio apartment in the city. One glowing little rectangle surrounded by glowing little rectangle. 400 square feet of a shared floor. 400 square feet of a shared ceiling. Paperthin walls, the sounds of neighbors living and sleeping and fucking and fighting.
My used furniture is worn and comfortable. I can take three steps from my bed to put the teapot on the stove. The floorboards creak in predictable patterns.
I love the sound of my buzzer. I love the spot in the kitchen where the draft from the old window meets the heat from the old furnace. I love sliding that chain into the lock on the old wooden door, locking out the world.
Loneliness feels so. goddamn. good.