The uniqueness of a home

Do you ever wonder what someones home looks like?

I think about that, as I arrange or rearrange the things in my place. That when someone comes over they'll go, "Huh, so this is what it looks like in Kristina's inner world."

And admittedly, I contemplate your world, too. Not in a judgmental way, but with a subtle curiosity that I like being sated. I like seeing how people create their space. I like knowing who's intent on keeping things perfectly clean or who doesn't give a fuck about the clutter. (Or that common combination thereof - 'Oh, pardon the mess! Really, now... I don't live like this! I swear.' - When we all do. Pardon the few.)

I like noticing the art on your walls. What you've chosen and the reasons you chose it. Or even the lack of...

I love the definition we consciously or subconsciously physically portray. Some of us set up our home to be shown to others and some of us make it uniquely personal, as if no one would ever see. Most of us, I suspect, make a hodge-podge of both. Or perhaps don't even bother. They don't have the want or the time.

So, it can be a special thing, no? Being invited into a home. Invited into where most people consider it their 'sacred' space. Maybe I'm stepping off the existential platform here, but I think a persons home, in its entirety, contains a unique sort of art. Whether or not they put serious effort into the creation of that physical home, it is where they live. It is HOW they live. It is quite likely, and with honesty, the physical manifestation of a persons life.

I find that fascinating.

I enjoy being allowed to see that canvas of you...

How do you live, I wonder?

...

I'm never getting invited into anyone's home ever again am I?