Hey My Love

Hey my love,

Tonight I’m writing to you from somewhere in between.
Not from a forever home, not from a fresh new beginning – but from that strange quiet place where you’re still waiting to see what happens next.

Maybe you know that place too.

This morning I woke up in our little rental, with a warm coffee in my hands and the kids still sleepy around me. The apartment is cosy and kind to us: it keeps out the snow and the wind, it holds our pizza nights and movie marathons, the drawings on the fridge and the shoes piled in the hallway.

And still, underneath all that, there’s this soft constant thought:
this isn’t it. Not yet.

It feels a bit like sitting in a train that hasn’t started moving. You know you’re going somewhere, you sort of know the direction, but the platform outside the window still looks exactly the same.

During the day I move through all the practical things.

I get ready for work, pack snacks, answer messages from banks. They’ve seen my numbers and heard my dreams. They’ve looked at the house I fell in love with – a tired but beautiful one, full of potential – and repeated the same answer in different words:

“Not this one. Not like this. Not yet.”

According to their calculations I can borrow a certain amount, but only if the house is already in good condition, with no big renovations needed.
The funny thing is: the houses that are “good enough” for the bank are too expensive for me, and the ones that are affordable enough for me are “too broken” for the bank.

So here I am in the middle.
Not able to buy, not wanting to stay stuck. Looking for a rental that feels a little more like a real home while I keep working, waiting and quietly building the future piece by piece.

On my break at work, a colleague and I talk about apartments and mortgages. We laugh, we complain a bit, and then we go back to our groups, to the kids who mostly care about who’s pushing the swing next and whose turn it is to choose the song.

Life goes on, even when the paperwork says “not yet”.

In the evening, after homework and dinner and dishes, I go out for a walk. The air is cold and my thoughts are full. I think about the house that slipped away, about the next email I’m waiting for from an estate agent, about whether the next place will finally feel like “we can breathe here”.

Maybe you know that feeling too – when your life is safe enough, but your heart is still pressing its forehead against the window, looking at something a little further away.

On the weeks when my kids are with their dad, the in-between feels even louder.
The hallway is suddenly empty. The toys are still, the apartment seems to exhale. Those are the evenings when the silence stretches and the questions get big.

And that’s where you come in.

Knowing that I can sit down with a cup of coffee, a small ray of light slipping through the blinds, and write to you – that changes everything. This “just a rental” turns into a tiny writing room, a place where my thoughts become letters to you.

I imagine you in your own in-between place.
Maybe you’re waiting for something too: a new home, a message, a decision, a person. Maybe you’re also living in a room that isn’t quite yours, wondering when the train will finally start moving.

If you are, I want you to know: you’re not the only one.

There is a quiet strength we grow in these waiting rooms of life.
We learn to make temporary spaces feel like home.
We laugh with people we love on floors we don’t own.
We keep dreaming, even when nothing is certain yet.

I’m learning to be proud of that in myself.
Of paying my bills, loving my kids, singing, working, planning – even before everything looks the way I hope it someday will.

This is not the end of the story.
It’s just one of those chapters where the character opens a lot of doors and most of them lead nowhere – until one day, one of them doesn’t.

Until that day, I’ll keep doing what I can with what I have… and I’ll keep coming back here to you, letter after letter.

So if you’re also in a borrowed space, or sleeping in a room that feels temporary, come sit by me for a moment.
We can be in-between together.

You bring your stories, I’ll bring mine,
and maybe this little corner of the internet can be our shared living room –
a place that feels like home even before we find the next one.

For tonight, I’m closing the tabs with loan offers and housing listings.
The uncertainty can wait until tomorrow.

Right now it’s just you, me, this quiet screen…
and the soft promise that things can change – slowly at first, and then all at once.

Sleep well, my love.
We’ll keep walking toward together, one small step – and one letter – at a time. 🤍