a love letter from late august

dear apartment number 2,

thank you for not judging me last night after dinner when i decided to make a semi-homemade turkey bacon hawaiian pizza on trader joe's pizza dough that was about to expire just so that i could have cold pizza in the morning. also thank you for not thinking i'm crazy when i imaginary asked you if i was adding too much pineapple. 

i love the way you make that sound when your dishwasher is on. it's soothing and earthy. it's a sound i've only ever heard at home, in chicago, so it makes me feel at home... and i love falling asleep to that sound.

i love your sun. 

and your other inhabitants, the way one has an instagram machine attached to his hand so that i can worry less about remembering to take pictures of my food, the way the other has impeccable taste in tea cups and pepper relish. 

you are the reincarnation of heath ledger. the mustard to my pretzel.