I don’t see myself as a domestic person. Sure, I’ll do my own laundry, I’ll make my own food if I have to. But sharing living space with other people takes a lot out of me. As much as I enjoy being around people, I still find comfort in retreating to a space that’s wholly for me at the end of the day.
And yet, here I am.
The evening sun in my face, air conditioner on full blast, sandwiched between two other bodies with our legs entangled and heads together. Everyone’s doing their own thing (sleeping, reading, watching a show), silently, enjoying the last moments of each other’s company. It feels so surreal. How I am so at ease with these people, how they make me feel like I can do anything- and I’d do anything for them, too.
I spent the night at their apartment. Two nights. We pulled two mattresses off the beds and arranged them in the common room. And while once I might have balked over sharing sleeping space with someone else, I found a new comfort in it now. It feels good to have a heavy arm slung around your waist, to be pulled close, to hear sleepy chuckles when you try to wake them up. All of this. It’s new to me.
I have never thought I’d be able to have something like this in my life. And now that I’ve tasted what it’s like, I’m grateful. These people, they make me a better person. Less angry. More filled with love and joy. And I cherish them with all my heart and soul.