This week I went on a solo two day adventure to visit my sister Amanda in northern Germany. I could write about the things we saw and did, or the time where we tried to put together a nightstand from ikea and put an important part on upside down despite multiple references to the instruction booklet, or how much our feet hurt from walking, or the banana that J stuck in my suitcase as a joke, or maybe how I successfully conquered the train system for the first time alone without ending up in Timbuktu.
But honestly the thing that resonated with me the most was Amanda's apartment. I made so many favorite memories within the forty eight hours spent surrounded by those walls and it's one of those places where I could see myself living far too easily. The floors are beautiful old wood, the walls are white, the windows are big and full of light, and the whole place, situated on the third floor, tilts slightly to the left.
My very favorite were the balconies. There were two, one on each end of the apartment, and the doors were always cracked slightly open. When I got a free moment during the day, I'd lay on the mattress on the floor and listen to the sounds drifting from the balcony--the seagulls calling back and forth, the jangling of a bicycle bell, the smoker's cough from three windows down, the brisk clackclackclack of heels on sidewalk, and the faint piano music floating on the breeze. I liked laying there in the peaceful sun-soaked room, somehow being a part of the city but at the same time not at all.
And breakfast on the balcony? That's always dreamy, no matter where you are.