There's a little studio apartment tucked away on California Street in West Seattle - Apartment 608.
I think we're born twice - once when we first come into this world, and again when we step into it. My parents raised me, but Apartment 608 grew me.
Two weeks after my college graduation, I fell into the embrace of her walls. I came to her a work-in-progress, heart under construction, excited, terrified, confused, and a little tattered. I didn't know it at the time, but her soft light, smooth laminate floors, and gentle open space marked the beginning of the rest of my life.
Our first few nights together were quiet - something I wasn't used to. I didn't know how to be alone, but she reassured me she'd show me how. She knew what I needed.
She let me turn my music up as I made myself at home. I dressed her counters with keepsakes and filled her drawers with my very own cutlery. I stocked her fridge with the foods I loved. I strung lights across her ceiling, corner to corner, and back again. I hung my clothes in her closet and placed my toothbrush in a cup on her bathroom counter.
She was mine, and I was hers. I fell in love with this new belonging over and over again when I stepped across her threshold every evening. As the sun went down, I would open her sliding glass door to a balcony only my big toes could fit on and breathe in the city.
Early morning breakfasts, late-night dinners, glasses of red wine, books of poetry, candles, belly laughs, heavy tears, popcorn and movies, spoonfuls of ice cream while folded into my bedsheets - we shared it all.
Every Saturday morning, I would wake up, and she would ask me, "What do you want to do today?" She taught me how important it is to take yourself out to coffee or the bakery down the street for a macaroon or a croissant.
And when it was all too much, she pushed me out her door because there's nothing a drive with all the windows rolled down can't fix or a walk along the beach can't solve.
And when I would come back, she'd be waiting with a hot shower and a warm robe.
We only had a year and some change together. I left Seattle, and I handed her keys to my sister.
It's been years since either of us lived there, but we often talk about Apartment 608. While they only had a few months together, she grew my sister too. For us, she's become a symbol of independence and who we are when you peel back the layers of husbands, dogs, and the responsibilities that come with it all.
She marks the foundation of the lives we've both built today.
The day after my sister's 26th birthday, we made our way back to California Street. We stopped the car in the middle of the road safe between the yellow lines of the turn lane outside her building just to press "pause" on life for a single moment.
It was then I realized that even though neither of us lives there anymore, Apartment 608 lives inside of each of us because she is us.
As we put the car in drive, I looked back, searching for her window. I couldn't help but think about who might be within her four walls learning to fall in love with themselves.
Loved 608. You both made it feel so homey.