there’s a place my brain seems inclined to return to.
it’s a nice place, i like to be there. i spend my time decorating it.
how funny it is to decorate a place i can’t show anyone.
of late, my joy comes from this place, and so does my rage.
my joie de vivre plants itself firmly in this place.
i keep the smallest things in my life here, things that i should ignore but need to keep.
the sound of a voice, the impression tiny moments make - little things that make me feel warm.
i wish so much it was all true.