I Could Live Here Forever

by Hanna Halperin

I’d always thought of quiet as synonymous with steady.

I had emotions, though. Big, torrential emotions. But that was why I read. That was why I wrote. I wasn’t one to call attention to myself in real life.

Nothing matched. But it was the first time I’d lived alone, and I loved everything about my apartment.

Each time I walked through my front door I felt peaceful—like this was where I was supposed to be.

I woke up each morning with a feeling that finally my life was happening.

Everything about my reflection looked wrong to me.

“The older I get, the more I dread holidays.”

The part I liked most about teaching was that mysterious moment in the semester when the class no longer felt like a random group of strangers in a room.

There are certain memories I’d never write down or tell anyone. I know what happens when you write things down. They change shape. Some of the feeling goes away. Things on the page are never as rich as they are in your head, as they were in real life.

How was it that just yesterday I felt free and happy to be lying here, by myself? Today it felt unbearable.

I started accepting that nothing is really in my control. I think things happen the way they’re supposed to.

She was busy all week with work, but then on Friday and Saturday evenings I’d find her sitting on the couch in her pajamas, scrolling on her phone, SVU on in the background, cookies baking in the kitchen. She rarely left the house

Though he didn’t have good posture, I liked the way he held himself—almost as if he’d forgotten he had a body.

“A relationship isn’t supposed to make you happy. You find happiness on your own. A partner is there to support you and build with you. It seems as though you’re looking for some magic person who’s going to solve all your problems, but you have to do that yourself.