The Woman Who Tried To Stay

She opened the door to her new house. Well, new wasn't exactly the word. "Fixer-upper", some would call it. Most people just called it an old piece of crap that they couldn't believe she had paid actual money for. But it was her. She was kind of a fan of the the notion that every single decision you've ever made in your life has brought you to exactly where you are right now. And she was so happy to be stepping into her new home. It was a wooden house. Poorly insulated. Used to be bright red. There was a river nearby. The first time she'd viewed the house she'd mistaken the rush of the river for a highway and the real estate agent had laughed and shaken her head at her and told her that she really needed to get out of the city. She had laughed along and agreed. She took a deep breath and her nose filled with smells of the forrest surrounding her and the dusty house she was about to make her own. Next week her family and some of her friends would come and help her with things she couldn't fix on her own. She stepped into the house onto the squeeky floors. She was smiling like an idiot. This was really all hers. She couldn't wait with filling the livingroom with books. Or put flowers she'd picked by the roadside in a vase in the kitchen. She could see herself sit in front of the fire place on a misty autumn day with a big dog by her side. She was going to force herself to get sick of this place. She was going to want to leave. Strike a match and - okay striking a match might be a bit too dramatic, rent it out at least, and pack her bags and leave. She was going to push through that feeling. She had to try. Her restless soul had been worn thin. She was going to stay this time.