our place is small, too small for a family of four. we have exactly three rooms and one bathroom, but its nice, and its cosy, and we are close living here yet distant in our own way, because that's how we've always been, respecting eachother's space. we dont talk very much, but we love eachother and we've never been very opened about how we feel because we never had to.

im in the kitchen washing dishes and beside me you unload the portable dryer filled with clothes in the corner near the fish tank, and fold them neatly on a dining room table that's always too crowded with clothes and your school work. on my other side, the washer which was once attached to the sink to run is now unhooked and finally empty.
but we had a good meal tonight, spaghetti, and we ate there at the dining room table, which was nice. the heat from the stove and the oven from the cooking of bread leaks everywhere and leaves our small apartment scorching hot. its very unpleasant but i keep to myself and wash dishes, because i cant stand the heat and i dont want to come across rudely if you talk to me.

from where i stand, i can see clearly into the family room, past the couch filled with papers and books about becoming a nurse, and into the only bedrooms we have, one where you sleep with rob and another that i share with my brother. our house, i mean our apartment, is painted with very warm hues, and on the walls we have old antiques based off of Egyptian culture, just like our old house, but smaller.

we've always been so clever, dont you think so, mom?