Mirror Blowe

Recently the old joys are all coming back; the smell of musk in my attic, the books I used to love, the familiar softness of my pillow when I dive into it, the corner I curl up to read, the strangeness in every new corridor I walk into. This week I stood at the edge of everything I was part of, talked myself through it and asked if it'd be different if I left, but I couldnt get the answer. God is in the details. Susie kept "(wanting) to go there into the cornflower blue of Crayola, the royal, the turquoise, the sky."

I love it when I sleep