We both walked around as if in a museum or art gallery. It felt weird to be bare foot in a stranger's house, on their carpet, going through their closets. We walked to the Dairy Queen on chemong road. A mini blizzard and French fries. At first we convinced ourselves the house wasn't for us, then we convinced ourselves it was. It had to be ours.
And a year later it is. Ours and the bank. This beautiful space belongs to us. I wonder if the walls heard us much laughter when the previous owners lived here. Because we laugh alot. Over so many things. And we talk. About everything - not just about the perfunctory things that owning a house requires conversations about. But the conversations that I only had in my head before. Talking to him is so easy. So are the silences.
,sometimes I wonder what would have happened to us if we haven't have bought this house. His original idea was to rent a house for a year. For once he was the cautious one. The thought of packing, moving, unpacking for year and then doing it all over again was horrific. Buying a house truly seemed easier. So, yes, buying a house was my idea. I hardly knew the words were out of my mouth and it was all happening.
I just knew we couldn't stay together and be in the apartment, and for reasons I didn't fully understand, he had become more important than my apartment.