Finding a house is like finding a boyfriend. The ones available suck. The good ones are already taken. You never seem to find one that is suitable for you.
Until you do. And you think: This is it. This is the one. The reason why all the previous ones failed.
So you fall in love with it and picture your whole life around it: waking up next to it, going to bed at night, going to the supermarket, taking the bus...you can even see all the lovely mugs you'll have in the kitchen: a pair of white twins for the morning espresso, a big black one for the afternoon tea. Cause you were meant to be together. All this time it has been there waiting for you. The only thought of it makes you smile. Oh, you will be so happy together! It is perfect for you and you are perfect for her. You will live happily ever after.
And then, just like in a relationship, the house lets you down: Most of the times it will cheat on you with another girl, maybe even a boy.''Im sorry we've rented the place to another person''.
And you think: what did I do wrong? Am I not enough for you? Is it because I'm ugly? or boring? should I lose weight? why aren't I enough for you? I'll change, don't leave me!!.
But it is too late. The damage is done. It cheated on you. It chose another person. It broke your heart and left you on the streets all alone.
Many other times, it will just dump you: ''Im afraid we only make contracts for a year'' or ''you haven't been working long enough in London to assure us that you will be able to pay the rent'', 'It's not you, it's me''.
So your world falls apart. And all your hopes and dreams are destroyed. And there is no future.... because you were MEANT to be together. So this is it. No more happy days. No house will ever compare to this one. Cause you were born for each other.
Yes, you will probably find some ditch to replace it and live unhappily until your dying day. Cause no house, NO HOUSE will ever compare to it. That one WAS your real house.
And so then after a while you get used to the idea of the loss. And you find a new house/flat/room and you fall in love again, and think that it could have never worked with the previous one. And you picture your life in it because THIS one IS the one.
Until it fucks you again, breaks your heart and illusions and leaves you homeless and sad.
And it starts all over and over again...
If I get this upset and emotional and attached with houses then I'm so glad I've refused to get in a serious relationship all this years.
Wisest decision EVER.
