domestic bliss

By Olivia C

sat in front of a psychatrist i hadnt seen since middle school.

last i saw him, i was idyllic and in love.

when he saw me that day, i was well rounded, skinnier, older, kinder, more thoughtful.

i filled in all of the gaps of what he had missed, from the heartbreak, to the blood, to the loss, to the gains.

and he asked me what i want in the future.

and i thought.

college?

kids?

a wife?

it all traced back to domestic bliss.

to waking up while orange sun sips on drowsy skin, and making pancakes on lazy days, putting records on while cooking for friends who sit around my dinner table, glasses filled with wine, and stories told.

reading by the fireplace, walking to shop for decor in my own house.

night drives, and fruit bowls.

i realize all ive ever wanted was to expirence was safety in a home.

no slammed doors, no dorms.

no attempts, no check ins.

to walk down the wood stairs while my dog follows me.

to wake up and want to live.

eating cherries out of a bowl and keeping the pits in my pocket,

as a reminder of where we come from.

the inside of a womb, our souls and spirits.

our homes.

the things we place meticously on shelves and nightstands.

figurines, books, art peices, cups and bowls, perfume, lamps.

curation of home only comes from health.