This room is cozy

 

I sit in what should be the bedroom of my apartment, only I sleep in the front room where the air conditioning is better during the summer.

This room is cozy. 

The front room becomes the funnel for my life, beginning with the photographs and paintings in my above the cupboard's gallery. It is the work room, the place I cook and paint, pay bills and wash clothes.

The hallway draws me over with my books and more photos. Places where things I love smile at me from among the words I love.

And this room is cozy.

It is filled with love. Actually my entire apartment only houses those things I love. Nothing else is worth keeping, but this room condenses that into my favorite painting, my favorite toys, my favorite clothes, and my big comfy chair. 

This room is cozy.

It is a warm place where people I love call me and where I write what my heart is feeling. This room is the difference between growing old alone and growing old lonely. Here I feel safe and warm and happy. Here I am surrounded by love in every form.  I can leave to be with friends, but I am not lonely.

This room is cozy.