More of this, please

Image courtesy of Kvelv

 Some nights I walk by a house whose lights are on inside, windows open, and everything inside looks perfect: food is cooking, work is being done, music is playing, stuff is sort of piled everywhere in an orderly sort of clutter.  I imagine that living in a place like that would be comforting, smell great, and be a pleasure to walk into. 

Tonight, my back blinds are flung open, windows (just) cracked open (as it is rather cold outside), dinner cooking, music like this is playing loudly, and I'm filled with a certain warmth that comes with feeling satisfied, desired, and on someone's mind.  I'll take it.  

In short, I live in that place I so coveted all those long walks in the night.