Essay About Books At Home

I lugged my bags up to my room and collapsed onto the bed. It was on the second floor of the house and the window looked out over the backyard that was shadowed by the surrounding forest. The floor was covered in light grey carpet and the wall painted a plain off white. A dark, wooden bed took up most of the room, pale fairy lights haphazardly thrown along the headboard. Two matching bedside tables sat on either side of the bed and an empty desk sat opposite it.

The living room is dimly lit with the only source of light coming from a small window in the center of the wall. On the white walls there are photographs of the teacher and people that I assume to be his family and friends. As I am standing in room marveling over the pictures the teacher motions for me to sit on the brown cushion couch. I take a seat on the couch, while the teacher sits down on a light brown recliner across from me.

There was a relaxing feeling coming from the room. The colors were pretty mellow such as the cream-colored walls. Although the room gave off this aura, there was a very elegant tea set in the middle of the room. The wall contained a fireplace while the corner of the room contained a combination of both a bookshelf and a desk. The desk had a pair of golden glasses that belonged to one of the men who lived in the home (I can’t recall exactly who they belonged to). Aside from these things, the room also contained what looked like a very comfortable couch. The guide stated that all of the pieces in the house aside from one fireplace and most of the replicated sales pieces in the General Store.

Right now, she is trying to soothe the kids. She does this every night, and every night, the children go to bed with the promise that tomorrow would be a better day. I can hear her walk back into the room, but my eyes remain fixated on the fire, hypnotized by their dance; a fiery consumption that sends up sparks and ash. She silently begins to clean up the shattered mess, sweeping up the shards of glass, and soaking up the whiskey and gin. Her face is a ghostly white, completely devoid of emotion. The soft tinkling of the glass is? accompanied by the low crackling coming from the hungry flames.

“I took them off when I started rubbing your feet,” Tattoo smiles as he says it.

Continuing walking forward your feet begin to collect stray balls of sand that have been scattered all across the white tile floor. The narrow walls in the hallway that lead to the rest of the condo have simple but elegant designs splattered upon them. There are an abundant number of pictures and wooden

There is also an old armchair and a big bed in the room. Their softness prompts

Sighing, I walk over to him, pick him up and prop him on my thighs. “Do you want to get combed?” I asked him. His round eyes glow at me with curiosity and I commence my operation: Brush Whiskie’s fur without difficulty.

It is not long before we turn into a neighborhood, and pull into the driveway of a one story, tan brick house. I step out of the van and my shoes crunch on the brown grass. Mel shows me to a room with walls that could have once been pink, but are now a patchy shade of brown. A lonely mattress covered with a blue sheets is plopped on the stained brown carpet. The only piece of furniture in the room is a cherry dresser with peeling wood. I have to jiggle the drawers before they only open to halfway. It doesn’t take me long to unpack considering my lack of items. I sit trying to run my fingers over the carpet, unsure of what to do. The fibers are crunchy like the dried paint on the brush of a

“Ah, yes, come with me, dear,” the woman said, taking Marilyn’s elbow and leading her away. Marilyn wondered where she was going.

"Wow! This is amazing!" Ileana said as she looked around at the room. Despite the fact that every surface was dusty, she could see the potential that this room had. A glorious view of the swirling ocean showed through the enormous windows, and furniture sat around the room: a bed, a bookshelf, a chair, a desk, and a nightstand with a lamp. To the left was a closet and a bathroom. It was truly picturesque.

He leaves for the kitchen. I sink into plush sofa and scan the room. A large window overlooks the street with only a sheer curtain to block out the sun or passersby. I muse, not the best spot to write a novel in - much too distracting. Though,

L straights her both legs on the rug for a few seconds then folds her knees and touches her slippers’ lace.

A tiny spark tickles me as I feel Jordan gently reach for my hand under the desk. He rubs slow, deep circles around my palm with his thumb. His eyes are carefully trained on mine, willing me to calm down. The tiny spark lights into a flame that radiates from this one small gesture. My heart is racing, and I stare at our clasped hands, the cause of my instant euphoria. Jordan has held my hand before, but this, this, is

Two minutes later, we were wedged into a lumpy sofa in Link’s living room. The room looked more like a page out of an antique furniture magazine. Overstuffed chaises and chairs were crowded around oak tables, stacked with well-worn tattered tales. There was a clock hanging over a roaring fire, boxes of knickknacks stacked on shelves, and several faded family photos lying next to a meerschaum pipe on a carved nesting table.