The Anatomy of Wanting Him
The ceiling isn’t particularly high; I suspect it’s wooden too, though it’s concealed beneath a tarp painted with drifting clouds.
The floorboards are wood, scattered with sheets of paper pasted here and there. Most brushed over in black paint, adorned with delicate flowers and butterflies. The walls, washed in pastel blue, are alive with hand-drawn surrealist pieces. I can’t name them all, but there are many, and together they create something striking. Effortlessly aesthetic, quietly captivating.
He doesn’t own much. Just two maroon-and-white Lawson sofas, a modest 24-inch television, a couple of electric fans, a brown coffee table, framed prints, vintage posters, neatly arranged bookshelv
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