I want worn ebony doors lined with cracks from years of being opened and shut,
wooden floors that smell of petrichor,
a library on the verge of collapse under the weight of hundreds of novels and
oil paintings of gothic cathedrals encased in faded gold along the halls.

I want delicate, lace curtains that remind me of silent movies and kitchen aprons,
dozens of records from various decades to be played while making dinner, 
mismatched, floral-patterned porcelain plates and 
displayed trinkets—treasures—collected from exploring the world.

I want to feel like I have nostalgia living with me as if sentiment could be tangible.

More than all these things,
I want sonder with someone introspective. 

Someone who will make lazy afternoons feel valuable,
to caress and share secrets with during restless hours and
to share pillowcases filled with confessions.

I want laughs on porch swings and kitchen fights,
game nights and philosophical debates and
all the memories that make a house a home. 

Featured art: “Åbent Vindue” by Carl Vilhelm Holsøe.