Meet me on the steps.

I want you to picture yourself walking up the steps of a brownstone home. Tires slosh through water as cars drive up and down the street behind you. The air is warm during the start of spring, with a soft breeze carrying the smell of jasmine. You reach the front door coated in dark green paint. You think of a forest with overcast weather and a Christmas tree in wintertime. On the windowsill to the right, you see an orange cat lounging in the alcove. He seems entirely sure of himself, maybe even a little cocky. He grooms the bottom of his front paw, swishing his tail back and forth over a stack of books. The stack extends in many different directions across the alcove. First, it goes up, and you suspect the owner then extends it to the left and right as the books wobble in the too-tall stack. You notice their titles: Everything I Know About Love, A Man Called Ove, Flowers for Algernon, and many more. You knock as the flowers shed their petals in the pot to the left of the green door. "Shave and a haircut," you sing as your knuckles rap.

The locks click. First goes the deadbolt, then the latch, and finally the brass knob begins to turn. Standing in the doorway is a woman. She's about 5'5", but doctors can never give her a straight answer. Her eyes are hazel, and she calls them inside-out kiwis. Her jaw is wide and sharp. Nose just like her father's. Her mother always jokes how she must've been the surrogate because her daughter is her father's mini-me. Curly brown hair bounces over her shoulders, with bangs covering her eyes. Sometimes, she pins her hair back to become a mullet when she feels up for it. "It's fun, so why not!"

A phrase from southern Scotland that the woman in the doorway lives by is called hurkle-durkling. This means lounging in bed long after you've woken up. That's why it's 10 am on a Saturday, and the woman is still in her PJs. Legend has it she's been into matching sets as of late. She wears long socks instead of slippers because then she gets to slide around the house and make a game of it. She likes reading books in bed long after the sun has risen, and maybe, just maybe, she will get up only to make a warm cup of tea. That's the only thing that could coax her out of her warm sheets.

The woman in the door? That's Juliette. That's me. The brownstone is my dream home, and the orange cat in the window is my cat, Oliver. I love to read, watch movies, and dance around the house if only to the song in my head. I only knock using the shave and a haircut rhythm. I love to be around people, but I also love when plans are canceled so I can lounge in bed as long as I want. I love noticing the simple things in life, like when old couples hold hands in the park or when little kids hold red balloons. I love watching others love and be loved.

This is just a taste of who I am. Meet Juliette. Meet me.