Hats & Windows
We all need someone to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under . . . The fourth category, the rarest, is the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers.
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
I’ve somehow convinced myself that my soulmate lives in my neighborhood and all I have to do is accidentally stumble into him one day.
At night, I go exploring the streets, peering into windows, not in a creepy way, but in a curious-cat-seeking-a-safe-new- shelter way.
I sometimes drive up the coast looking at the bigger homes. (I am definitely the poorest person in my fancy neighborhood, so every house seems big to me).
Once, I pulled over and saw a guy walking around his Malibu house, all the lights on, getting ready for a date (I assumed). I could tell he was a bachelor based on the cold layout of the rooms, sparse furniture, not much on the walls. He must have had fifty plants on the front terrace, and I thought, how lonely must this guy be to have so many plants?
He’s not my guy. His car is too fancy, and his house is too empty. He’s clearly compensating for something.
