thelesbianlifestyle.com

I love how the first thing you set up is the stereo. Our worlds are still in stacks of boxes, but Frank Sinatra’s already accompanying the arrival of darkness as we survey the new apartment. It’s my first real home since childhood, and I know it’s yours as well. We’ve worked hard to earn a place in this majestic building, and we don’t waste a minute as we begin to build our niche in the city. Together we arrange the Ikea-style furniture, and I vow to soon afford the Pottery Barn decor you’ve talked about since day one. You gently lay my collection of skirts and suits upon the bed, and I can’t help but smile to see you cherish something that touched my body. Picture frames begin to line the mantle and coffee-table books for once find their rightful home on an actual table; the volume of Kennedy photographs you gave me for my last birthday, your book of modern art from your mother. We unpack the pillows and curtains and pots, and slowly but surely, the place begins to radiate the warmth of a home. The closet fills with your music and my shoes, and together we laugh and plan as we watch the passerby below. We are young, in love, and in heaven. And it’s only seven floors above the sidewalk.

by Bree