(not an) ode to my apartment
Dear Apartment,
Things were so great for so long. Two and a half years ago, we fell in love and you became a home. And yet, now the sparkle has faded, as the whiteness of your carpet. You idiotic shower has been coupled with a light that won't turn on no matter the bulb replacement. The laundry room, which was endearingly located downstairs and through a path laden with sprinklers, is now a curse. Your bathroom is ugly, your rooms are too small and unaccommodating. Even your furniture is starting to bug me, as your couch lining begins to tear and your chair is stained and broken. Your kitchen is too small and onions fall on the ground after I cut them on the opposite-facing counter. You and I no longer get along as we used to, and I think we need to understand the consequences.
I'm ready for a change, oh apartment. I look forward to a new couch and a larger kitchen and washer and dryer and a bathroom in which I may take a lighted shower.
I just need some money.
Nevermore,
Lindsay
Things were so great for so long. Two and a half years ago, we fell in love and you became a home. And yet, now the sparkle has faded, as the whiteness of your carpet. You idiotic shower has been coupled with a light that won't turn on no matter the bulb replacement. The laundry room, which was endearingly located downstairs and through a path laden with sprinklers, is now a curse. Your bathroom is ugly, your rooms are too small and unaccommodating. Even your furniture is starting to bug me, as your couch lining begins to tear and your chair is stained and broken. Your kitchen is too small and onions fall on the ground after I cut them on the opposite-facing counter. You and I no longer get along as we used to, and I think we need to understand the consequences.
I'm ready for a change, oh apartment. I look forward to a new couch and a larger kitchen and washer and dryer and a bathroom in which I may take a lighted shower.
I just need some money.
Nevermore,
Lindsay