Illustration by Jaimee Lee Haddad and Nima Salha
To the two-bedroom apartment I found some months ago,You don’t quite feel like home yet. Maybe it’s the long office hours, maybe my fear of attachment, or my gravitation toward minimalism — but I’m not here to make excuses. Your tall windows and flower prints are enchanting, your old floors scream personality — yet still lacking. Perhaps your most essential quality is that you are in some way mine. Maybe the feeling of belonging is defined by that alone. Either way, that’s a feeling I have yet to find within my body.You know, the morning after the strikes that killed Nasrallah I rushed through your dark red doors after having worked through the night. I looked for my things, not sure what I was looking to find. My rings? My camera? Do I need my passport? I remember grabbing my black leather boots. It was still warm out, but I needed...
To the two-bedroom apartment I found some months ago,You don’t quite feel like home yet. Maybe it’s the long office hours, maybe my fear of attachment, or my gravitation toward minimalism — but I’m not here to make excuses. Your tall windows and flower prints are enchanting, your old floors scream personality — yet still lacking. Perhaps your most essential quality is that you are in some way mine. Maybe the feeling of belonging is defined by that alone. Either way, that’s a feeling I have yet to find within my body.You know, the morning after the strikes that killed Nasrallah I rushed through your dark red doors after having worked through the night. I looked for my things, not sure what I was looking to find. My rings? My camera? Do I need my passport? I remember grabbing my black leather boots. It was still warm out, but I...