Imagine

I like to imagine myself with my own little flat, probably on the outskirts of a city somewhere, and probably near to the sea. I would unlock my door after a long day at work, and be greeted by two cats, the friendly ones who love a good stroke. I would curl up with a book on my sofa under a lovely patchwork blanket I picked up from a charity shop. I would be surrounded by book shelves stacked with second hand books, and house plants that I sometimes forget to water, but they're not the fussiest kinds of plants so were still living.
I imagine having a small kitchen, with cupboards I'd scruffily painted over myself. I wouldn't have a lot of cutlery or much crockery but would have plenty of mugs for my endless cups of tea. White with two sugars. I would probably end up eating microwaved noodles in them by the end of the week when I hadn't done the washing up.
I would have a desk somewhere, whether in my bedroom or the lounge I'm not sure. But it would be my creative space with paints and sketchbooks and posters hung up around it for inspiration. I would sit there for hours every day when I felt even a spark of motivation.
My bed would be made up of lots of cushions and blankets I'd collected up over the years, and would be a cosy, peaceful space to return to at night, with a velux window as to listen to the falling rain on a dreary evening.
In the morning I would get up early and take a journal to my local coffee shop, writing lists of things to get done that day, maybe doing a spot of drawing and listening to a chilled out playlist.

I don't know if this place will ever be a reality but I like to think of it occasionally. It's a safe place to wonder around when I think about my future.