I lived in this big, beautiful house on East 52nd Avenue for a few months last spring. This place was named "The Enchanted House" by our friends who spent time there: it really did seem like a secret, magical space, surrounded by trees and flowers, where time didn't exist and where all your most desperate, unspoken wishes could come true.
This was one of my favourite rooms - the window-lined front solarium, shaded by trees, dappled with the sunlight of early summer on this beautiful morning. I sat in my blue reading chair - the one I got from Starla when she moved to California - and among all of those things, those pieces of me and of my friends, in my safe and secret space, in this room surrounded by windows, on this street where I didn't belong, I pulled off my clothes...