I just. I want to go home (but it wasn't home forever). I want to go home (but it wasn't home forever)

they renovated it entirely- very stark, very white. very modern. I can't be mad about this; the fire made the interior completely unsalvageable, and anyway, it had burned ten years before this last time. so it was hardly All-Original when I lived there

they changed the layout. I can't place the location of my room, even though the windows are in the same spots. I can be mad about this, but I'm not. I am unaccountably sad

sometimes everything I've bought and made and been gifted and built since then, all the replacements, even through they're the work of my hands or the love of friends and family made real- feel fake. feel rushed and hastily cobbled together. I suppose it's because they're, at most, two years old in my life. in the old place, some things had been with me decades or more

where I live now is older, more ornate. beautiful. full of people who think well of me. it's a good place, it really is. I've rebuilt in so many ways

I wonder if the ghost of Me Before This keeps the millionaires up at night, walking through walls down a hallway that no longer exists. too much a creature of sea-green paint and rattling old doorknobs to fit in their ice-white luxury. I'm not sure she'll ever come back to me- acting out a normal evening return that never was, over and over again. finishing that day as I never got to

I hope they're nice. I hope they have better decorating taste than whoever staged those photos

grief, when it's deferred by the urgency of a survival checklist, bursts out at odd times and places

it was not home. not meant to be. I try to remind myself of that

who wants to see my old apartment

this was the entry from the stairs that led up to our "first floor," on the second level of the building. the back staircase, yellow here with the sun, led to the third floor where the bedrooms were. those windows always stuck something fierce. we never had the lights on during sunny days if I could help it, but I didn't take this picture. I'd never before lived in an apartment that had radiators like that, with flowers in the cast iron; I loved them so much

it was such a good kitchen. everyone always said we had an amazing kitchen, when they visited. I wrote one of my fanfics on that squashy tan couch in front of a fan, on the hottest July day that year; a story that began and ended with a snowstorm. there's a photo of me lounging on it, wine-tipsy, in the Lucille robe and nightgown

the cabinets above and to the left of the stove survived the fire almost entirely. everything inside them was untouched, pristine, when the firemen opened the door to retrieve my antique teapot. I put it on a high shelf when I wasn't using it, so as not to stress out my housemates by having something fragile and irreplaceable on the counter or table

the breeze would always knock the toilet paper off the windowsill in summer when the windows were open, but we couldn't seem to fix the TP holder so it would stay put. that's my facial cleanser in the shower, the pump bottle. my bag of antique linen wash hiding my toothbrush on the little white shelf to the far right. I hung out with a housemate/friend in there while they dyed their hair once. I brushed my teeth in there on the mornings of my 27th, 28th, 29th, 30th birthdays. I spit blood into the sink you can't see, the night my gum graft stitches popped, not knowing we had less than a month to live there. the house as we knew it had less than a month to exist

I never took decent photos of my room. I regret that so deeply. this is how I last saw the place, though, in its proper form- what I saw After doesn't count. part of me will always be the Me that left that morning for work, eternally expecting to open that door and pass through those familiar rooms again

it was never supposed to be home forever, but it was home for those four years.

after promising to let us know when the burned-out place was being cleared for demolition or renovation so we could hopefully retrieve things stuck in water-damaged pieces of furniture and such. (we did not ask for this; he offered, on the suggestion of the firefighters)

I should have known better than to trust a landlord. I feel equally furious and stupid. my only defense is that I was in a vulnerable emotional state and not thinking clearly, and as the months wore on and nothing happened- I've been checking the house regularly -I dared to think he'd keep his promise

my dresser was swollen shut when we went back in the first time; I tried to get it open; I really did, but I couldn't. my passport was in there, my best jewelry pieces, stays and corsets, family heirloom gloves...and now I'll never get any of it back

Not quite perfect, but looking much more comfortable! I had a chance to go to the house of a friend who is very kindly storing my fire – rescued possessions and do a bit of cleaning. These ladies felt invigorated enough after their bath to come back to my temporary lodgings with me.

And. Well. having them back is an immense comfort.

February, 2022- I was midway through making the Lucille park dress cosplay. it was the middle of the day, so I was probably at work or out with a friend or doing something crafty at home. maybe writing. maybe I'm in there, dreaming and creating behind the windows. knowing where each treasure that makes up my life is, and that they and their memories are safe. taking it for granted. if I want a book, I will walk upstairs to the bookcase in the living room and grab my childhood copy of Ella Enchanted, or an autographed October Daye novel, or the out-of-print doll clothing reference encyclopedia a friend sent me a few months earlier. in another week or so, I will see snow ghost-dance past the window in my third-floor bedroom. my Room At The Top Of The World, I called it

"this is such a nice apartment," existing residents would say to new housemates during pauses in sweaty September moving days. "it REALLY is," would generally be the awed response. it really was

I am in there, feeling stable and safe, always. knowing that, while I don't want to live in this apartment permanently, it will be here until I'm ready to leave. on my own terms. in happiness, or at least acceptance. with preparation. with a chance to say good-bye

guess whose corsets were all in her dresser when her house caught fire

guess whose dresser was firmly swollen shut from water damage when she went back into her burned-out apartment to retrieve her things