I’m on my way to the post office when I see it. I took a different route to my usual main-thoroughfare trek and ended up walking along the side of a pretty little park on the outskirts of the university campus. I’m just turning to cross over to the other side of the road when my attention is caught by a house on one of the side streets. The exterior of the house is rendered and painted an unusual but appealing light blue. The walls and doors are also blue, but darker and more like a bluey-grey, which ties in nicely with the grey roof tiles. A rope swing hangs from a tree in the front garden, positioned perfectly to allow you to jump off and land on the soft green grass. It’s not as big as some of the surrounding monstrosities but with two storeys and an attic it’s still quite a size. On the right hand side there’s a bay window, overlooking a small flowerbed currently holding red roses. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. I can’t really explain why I like it so much, I just do. It’s quirky and charming and instantly comfortable. It makes me think of Dom. I can picture him now, waiting at the front door to greet me as I arrive home from work. I can see myself welcoming Gran on a Sunday afternoon; the smell of roast beef wafting through what I imagine is a large, open-plan kitchen. I can see Dom and I digging up the roses and starting afresh with seeds that promise a rainbow of colours. I can see us picnicking in the park across the road, maybe even walking a dog.

I can see us happy here.