I long for a room of my own, with a shut door at my back, pooled in darkness. I'd listen to the air buzz in my ears and then settle on the floor and in all the interstices, and everything would shrink until I could wrap myself in the dark. Or maybe not. Maybe I would grow, the me in my head would grow and take on skin made of music and goosebumped with pure ineffable feeling, and this dark room could be my humming heart. Yes, and I could be so vast that all the open places between things could be my home, and the wind would be arms and words for me to be rest in. And I would grow and grow, greater than life even, to be free of my fear and my loss and all my love I'd fling it all to the stars and scream until I'm sitting here in this room still, breathing this darkness. And it runs like water into my chest.
So I've decided to start writing nightly reflections again. Every night I will simply write out what's in my head when I start typing. Here's the first attempt.
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