What will be mine.

There's a charming abandoned storefront across the street from my friends' apartment in Philly. Every time I visit, I daydream about one day owning a storefront with such character. The facade reminds me of what I imagine coffee nooks in Italy look like. I want to walk barefoot in a store I can call my own, cool stone under my feet, windows open to the sunlight. Even before the excitement of early morning bread making or the chatter of coffee beans into the grinder, I look forward to the day when an empty space is ready for me to make it mine.

Country living.

I was just browsing rockstar diaries (as I sometimes do toward the end of the day...) and the photo of her family's garden gave me pause. The guy and I have been chatting nonchalantly about living plans after this year's sudden lease is up next year, and it's had me thinking more and more where I want to find myself next. Maybe you can blame it on the longest acres, but I want to live on a farm. I don't think I could tend to a fully functional farm (read: animals and barns and feed), but I'd love to start heading that way. I want to live on a big piece of land with a wrap-around porch and a place to plant a garden. I want gravel paths and woods out back to explore. And what's strangest about it all is that I'm pretty much describing my parents' home in Georgia, where I am almost certain I will never end up.

Mike keeps teasing me for not wanting to live in a subdivision (his response: "It's called a neighborhood."), but I think I just want space after all of this city living. This is not to say I won't miss Cambridge with all of my heart, but I think some parts of me have always known I'll end up somewhere quiet, where thoughts are plentiful and a slower way of life trumps public transportation any day. Here's to dreaming.

Photo from longest acres