Pretty little earth
made of play dough and moon sand
Now that it's growing closer I need a few things. In my inpatient brain I need those things NOW before something impish comes and snatches the whole thing away. I see things that might be better than mine, and I freak out and shut the pretty things I've been making away. No, you can't see it. It's no good. It's not finished. It won't be finished, let me put it in this trunk of half knitted sweaters and quilts with thread tangled on the squares.
Should I resort back to fluff? Should I chase away these pesky ice demons and forget it all? Just because we get frustrated and moody? No.