Dec. 18, 2016
The shelf space.
Everything placed ever so carefully as not to disturb the mice within the walls.
Rosemary in the corner.
The breakfast nook.
Nothing has to be the same.
The bright white of the walls clashing with still frames of the past.
This is where I daydream.
The space where I will rest my bones after a long days work.
Where a lover and I speak in hushed tones under cold sheets we tangled the night before.
Reaching for the good brighter than the light dancing in through the open window.
The spilled paint, the ink & paper, the mess of yarn strewn across the desk.
The ebb and flow of this beautiful mess.
Nesting in the home I made in between these four walls.
I am my own.