And the Tapestry was the World

Wrapped in a sort of winding-cloth of soft pink effulgence, I am obsessively

embroidering the world into being. Who I am does not matter. My whole being is

defined by this action, this fixed longing, this everlasting moment of reiteration. I so

much wish this was real, I so much want the world to be conjured from my fingers in

a whirl of flowers, I want to wrap myself in the world, preserve myself for ever. I am

caught in the throes of a spell, I can’t look away, I can’t let go.