The Basement

Outdated family pictures adorning the walls, a collection of antique history novels occupying the dusty shelves; the chestnut table, serving as an island for our dirty dishes and cell phones; the plaid, worn couch; lighting, haunting us from outside; rain, pitter-pattering upon the windows; a well-used sweatshirt enveloping me; blankets, sheltering us from the darkness, downy pillows supporting our bodies; my hand, flipping through Netflix in search for anything to watch; the fireplace burning in the corner; a big, fluffy Bernese mountain dog soaking in its warmth; cookie crumbs, conquering the surface of the chestnut table; our phones, buzzing only to be ignored; us, slowly falling asleep to the soft commotion of a John Hughes film