ELLE
I officially move my things into Blake's penthouse on a Saturday.
It's not dramatic. I'm not moving all my belongings. I'm bringing enough to feel like I actually live here instead of just visiting. Clothes. Work files. My laptop. Books. The small things that make a space feel like it belongs to you.
Blake helps me carry boxes, but he doesn't direct me where things should go. He just watches as I create space for myself inside his life.
I clear out a drawer in his bathroom. My toothbrush. My skincare. My deodorant. Small reclamations of space and identity in a place that was entirely his.
I set up a desk in the corner of the living room. My work laptop. My notebooks. A lamp that casts warm light over the space. This is my corner. My place to work. My reminder that I'm still a per
