Imagine a street where every house is picture-perfect. The lawns were mowed to be picture-perfect. Every window, every driveway, every flower, every balcony, and every veranda – nothing but picture perfect. It’s almost like a dream. An intimidating one. One that lures you in, makes you comfortable and then before you know it – the image before you is nothing but sinister. I’ve driven down a street like this. It’s as if every neighbour has conspired together to find Brighton’s most recommended residential architects to create a housing scape that is so hauntingly beautiful, you can’t look away.
That’s what happened to me when I drove down this street. I’m not sure if I was in awe from being enamoured by the captivating beauty of synchronicity, or if it haunted me to the point of being unable to look away. I’ve never been hypnotised like I was that day. No beauty, no matter how great, has ever come close. Unfortunately, there’s one thing I’ll never understand. And that is how my partner, my sick and twisted partner, had nothing to say other than the words “how much does an architect cost?” Really. Is he honestly for real? All this one of a kind beauty around us and all he can think of is money. Typical. So damn typical of him to go straight to how much something costs. He can never enjoy something for what it is, nor can he ever live in the moment. Maybe if he lived in the moment a bit more and took a step back away from the clench of his wallet, he’d be able to see the beauty in life.
I understand things can’t always be perfect, or constantly beautiful, but it is what you make of it. A beautiful home can do wonders. It is the place you retreat. A place that you are to feel safe. That’s what these homes had. In fact, it’s what the whole street had. I don’t feel envious. I feel hopeful that I too can one day have the same.