Covered in glitter and crumbs. Waking up to maracas and fairy wings. Pockets full of rubber bands and dandelions. Buried under book piles. Dirty hands with homemade kombucha. Coffee in the rain. Waiting for that sacred scrap of silence.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Just on my way, from here to there. And then this, a pause, a doorway. I picture someone carefully tearing their old hoodies into the perfect strips, knotting them together. To form this, a fringed threshold to somewhere else. An opening.