Loving someone is like moving into a house,
Sonja used to say. At
first you fall in love with all the new things, amazed every morning that all
this belongs to you, as if fearing that someone would suddenly come rushing
through the door to explain that a terrible mistake has been made, you weren’t
actually supposed to live in a wonderful place like this. Then over the years, the walls become
weathered, the wood splinters here and there, and you start to love that house
not so much for all its perfection, but rather for its imperfections. You get to know all the nooks and
crannies. How to avoid getting the key stuck
in the lock when it’s cold outside.
Which of the floorboards flex slightly when one steps on them, or
exactly how to open the wardrobe doors without them creaking. These are the little secrets that make it
your home.
--Fredrik
Backman, A Man Called Ove
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