Friday Breath

Once upon a time, over a hill and just up from a beach, was a little yellow house.

And up the giggle inducing, belt-loop dragging driveway, and inside the white door overgrown with vines, and past a lounge room strewn with decks and Rhodes and days old wet washing, stayed a happy little two.

And in their room, that once had a wall mural of clouds but was painted over with steel-blue outdoor paint, were trinkets collected on trips and travels before the two knew (and while).
A vibrant purple imperial orchard in a square, white ceramic vase. A years old amp that taught the two about Kraftwerk and passes and tickets from gigs where fun times were shared. And another white door, that opened onto a damp, rain forest wonderland. Like another world that only the two could sneak into.

It was in the candle lit room, on a winter night, in a winey haze, lying back-to-front on white sheets as they often did, that the boy said 'i love you' for the very first time and the girl knew that he was the right one. Facing each other, looking straight in the eye, the moment was impossibly right.

This Venice Beach house, shot by The Selby reminds me of that time.