We made tea that neither of us finished. Put on an old record that crackled before it sang. The afternoon stretched long and generous, the kind that forgets to turn into evening until the room goes gold around the edges.
By 5 p.m., we were tangled on the couch under a blanket that smelled like laundry and her shampoo. Snow started falling outside—small, unhurried. I remember thinking: This is the kind of day you don’t realize you’ll miss until it’s already a memory. Lily Lou - With the House to Ourselves -01.13.22-
The front door clicked shut, and just like that, the world outside dissolved. No parents. No roommates. No errands or interruptions. Just the hum of the refrigerator, the soft slant of winter light through the kitchen blinds, and Lily Lou. We made tea that neither of us finished
Lily Lou fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. The record had stopped. The tea went cold. By 5 p
Here’s a short piece inspired by the title and mood of — treating it like a memory, a journal entry, or a quiet moment captured in time. Title: With the House to Ourselves January 13, 2022