windows

Last night I fell asleep with an image hovering behind my eyes. It's the image I keep most close to my heart when I think of Madison, and Madison-happiness.

Basically, it's just two intersecting walls with a window on each, the windows framed with dark wood. Outside you can only see tree branches, and pieces of houses intermittent. There's a bookshelf in between at a diagonal, a stereo's warm blue light and lots and lots of friendly old books on its shelves. You can see the corner of the bed, with light blue sheets, and a plant at the top of the right window with twisting vines falling down to the sill. The only light, other than the stereo, is the fading light of the day from outside, and there's a spring breeze making the sheets rustle.

It's my bedroom in the Johnson house, and even if it wasn't perhaps as magical as I remember it, it was the kind of place I wanted to call my own. Someplace older and friendlier than a sterile apartment complex.

Heather Corinna put up some photos today of her place in the Cities, and it reminds me so much of the insides of houses in Madison I almost want to cry.

I'm going up to Denton today to look into buying a house. My dad and I have decided it'd be cheaper in the long run, and much nicer than being at the mercy of landlords and such. He wants a newer place, but I'm hoping there might be someplace with character and life, trees, windowsills, places for cats to cozy up on, plant hooks.

As if in time to the steady increase of dread I feel about visiting Madison (it's mixed with excitement, and happiness, of course), my ivy finally died after a few months of struggling. The ivy I bought with Emily when we randomly found the plant sale near the school of agriculture. The same plant that hangs down the window in my memory, lush and green.

I hate feeling trapped in my memories of Madison, because they always bring sadness. When I want to enjoy them, instead I feel as if I've left something precious behind that I'll never be able to retrieve. It's not healthy and I thought I'd beat it back into submission, but there's still a weak spot.

But maybe it's just the lack of a window in my apartment that truly provides me with something special to see.