lights dim, warm
like the tongues of tiny flames
grazing my skin.
walked-on carpet,
not as fluffy as day one
beneath my bare feet.
hem of my white dress,
tiny yellow flowers
blossoming at my toes.
chin and summer-flushed cheek
resting heavily, sulking
against my fist.
breathing accelerates.
the thrill.
the oblivion.
the fear.
the relief.
the loneliness.
the aching.
the feeling-found.
the feeling-seen.
the possibility--
--of words,
pen to paper.
right in front of me
"write,"
i command my fingers.
"write and never stop."