I live on the first floor.
Today I saw some neighbors walk by.
I always see neighbors walk by, to be fair.
Today I saw this couple who live above me, somewhere. They always look "put together"; high end brands, perfect hair. Today they came home, checking their pockets or their phones in responses to questions the other were asking. The man looked sleek in his dark jacket with a standing collar, and the girl had minimal makeup, the kind that makes you appreciate someone's natural beauty. He had one shopping bag over his arm; she had two, the sharp white corners bouncing against her jacket and a delicate rope strap draped over her forearm. They looked in a mild hurry, eager to get home, eager to continue their perfectly normal today.
I stopped for a moment and remembered how once, in the back of my mind somewhere, I used to dream and long to be rich. I never really believed I could amass great wealth, but it was enough to dream about not having to check my bank balance so frequently. To make a purchase without triple checking, guessing, constantly wondering about a budget. To be with someone who wouldn't mind shopping with me. Who might encourage me, even; sit in a chair and read a magazine, waiting for me to come out of the changing room with a shy smile. He might ask me to twirl, grin with appreciation or "tut tut" when he doesn't like the look. In the end we would walk out with the white bag and its sharp corners and delicate strap swinging from my wrist, his hand clasped over mine.
These days. These days I don't try to really take care of my appearance, to be honest. There is no one to impress. I've never felt secure about money; I have never been with anyone who had it, and wanted to spend it in such a way on me. Ah, there's the name for it- the princess fantasy. Swept off your feet, cared for, kept even.
These days it's just about making ends meet. Selling the higher priced furniture and finding good enough replacements second hand. It's drinking old alcohol before you go out to save on alcohol when you're there. It's being bitten by the one you love, from far away, nursing the bite that is already infected with poisonous words- not good enough, not right, don't fit, not strong enough. Not enough.
I wish I could, for one day, have a day to be like my neighbors. Be with someone who smiled because I was there, who held my hand and didn't mind to hold my bags. Who wanted to dress me up, and see me look beautiful, and to walk back into the world with my hand in his, declaring, she's mine, I'm hers, this is precious.
It feels so selfish to even imagine it. How did I describe myself yesterday? Like a slug who yearned to fly.
How small my dreams have become.