The room was both the strangest and coziest space I had ever been in. Even with its small size, it was crammed on two walls with floor to ceiling shelves. Some shelves held books, varying wildly in size and shape, color and topic. Other made a home for knickknacks and other novelties. An entire shelf had been dedicated to miniatures of famous monuments and landmarks – the Statue of Liberty, Eiffel Tower, and Colosseum, to name a few.

The center of the room was occupied by plush, floral love seats that would only have matched the ugliest of decors. Not that anything else in the room matched, but the seating stood out especially. They weren’t the prettiest couches, but they looked surprisingly well put together. I took a seat.

In between the couches was an ornately carved coffee table. It had seen better days, but I saw the appeal in it. Other than a few empty mugs, the table was cluttered with large books. I peeked at the spines and found they were sight-seeing books. 1,000 Places to See and similar titles. Upon flipping through the top book, I noticed some of the pages had folded corners; others had notes scribbled in illegible cursive in every available margin. Someone obviously loved these books and had big plans for their contents.

Sunlight drifted into the room through the blinds of a single, small window. On the sill sat a sad and neglected house plant in desperate need of watering. Mismatched lamps sitting on side tables would provide light once the sun goes down. Those… and the dingy fireplace taking center stage on the far wall. It, like most things in the room, seemed well-used, but at the moment all it held was a single, half-charred log. Not impressive at the moment, but I could imagine it lit up and happily cackling through the winter months, keeping the cold away from the room’s occupants.

Also, like most things in the room, the pictures on the mantle were quite the odd collection. In various sizes, and various frames, the photos themselves were of various things. Everything from people to buildings to animals was present. Some pictures were black and white, some in color. Some were Polaroid, some were professional. There were even a few paintings among the clutter. These pictures told someone’s story. I couldn’t tell where it began or where it ended, but it didn’t particularly matter. Someone had lived them and now here I was, viewing their story, but not knowing what to make of it or how the pieces fit together. I doubt anyone but the owner knew the full tale.

The room was unique to say the least, but strangely enough, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t and hours later I had some big plans. I was going to visit so many places and so do many things that no one would see me for years. When I return, I’ll be someone totally different, but hopefully somebody better than before.