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It was one of those November Sundays when the city feels too tight. I've been living in Verona for a while now, working in a commercial studio, spending my days between screens, deadlines, and endless phone calls. The idea of buying a house had been buzzing in my mind for months, but everything I had seen was the same: gray apartments, anonymous condos, balconies facing other balconies. So, almost by chance, I opened an ad. Dro. An attic on the third floor. I don’t know why, but I got into my car and set off.
I arrive in Dro in half an hour. The town is quiet, wrapped by mountains. I park, look for the street number and enter the condominium courtyard. Already here I like it: there’s a small reserved parking area, some trees and a porch that seems to want to guide you inside. The real estate agent is waiting for me in front of the elevator.
We go up to the third floor; on the landing there’s a little cellar all mine: small and cool—perfect for storing some bottles or keeping those things that have no place at home.
Now it's time for the apartment; as soon as I open the door, the world stays below me. This is a tower—not made of stone and ivy—but an attic with that same soul: suspended, protected and secretive. As I step inside I'm welcomed by the scent of wood; there's a wood stove at entrance—it isn't lit yet but already imagine it glowing during winter evenings with flames dancing behind glass.
I look up—the ceiling is woven with exposed beams running like ancient ribs above me—no upper floors or neighbors walking around just roof and sky above.
There’s spacious double bedroom—a master bedroom seeming designed to get lost within—and another smaller room which whispers silence perfect either as study or guest room when friends visit someday.Every room has openings onto rooftops—I call them windows to heaven—they open towards light,moon,and rain tapping gently like impatient fingers.The bathroom modern features glass shower appearing suspended mid-air.Clean,functional & perfect!
But heart of this attic lies within its living-kitchen area.No regular windows here only low-sill ones at waist height almost crafted so you can gaze without being seen.As i envision brewing coffee,i can see myself nestled down watching over village road people passing life unfolding without asking anything from me.I'd be both indoors yet out upstairs still close.It feels akin having front-row seat upon world sans obligation participate!
Stepping out onto porch finds me amidst town.Breathing deeply air tastes different here cleaner slower.No prince needs scale this tower nor anyone save me.Maybe saving myself merely gazing upon this loft isn’t quite home not “mine”yet.But returning back toward car already knowing I'll make offer because everyone needs their own tower even more so do i.
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