There’s something oddly peaceful about being places where lights don’t drown out the brightness of the stars, where buildings are rugged and old, where community is valued above everything else. Something speaks to me in small towns, where the way it’s always been is the way it’s going to be, where the homes are more like cozy huts, where neighbors are more like family. Something is to be said for living within your means, no matter how small- enjoying the company of the people you’ve always known rather than the stale stares of strangers on city streets. Something is sacred in towns like that, where opportunity is humble and doesn’t equate to contentment. I can’t quite put my finger on it but something is so pure about small places.
“Love grows best in little houses, with fewer walls to separate. Where you eat and sleep so close together, you can’t help but to communicate. And if we had more room between us, think of all we’d miss. Love grows best in houses like this.”