It's like the world seems a little cozier. Like I've finally found my own hourglass. I want nothing more than to curl up in a big, fuzzy robe and slip into my own little air pocket. I dream of possibility. The world exists to revolve around me like a spinning bottle and then seal me up. I crave the scent of burning in my nostrils and muggy warmth in my palms. Life as porcelain.
This may seem to you like fiction, but it will not be posted on my 'scribbles' blog because it is larger parts reality than make-believe.
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