Blue Juniper
Opus Eponymous

Currently hoarding.

You can be selfish for a second. You can exhale and close the heavy door behind you, wrestle it shut if you have to. You can lean against the inside of it and even click the lock, it's up to you. You can choose not to be so damned accommodating of the hands and voices that pull at you and call your name. You can let them solve their own problems. After all, you're in here, behind the safe door, and you can make up any rule you want. You can decide that you've done your best. For today. For the week. For the lifetime you've spent trying to solve it. You can believe that it's possible to be happy, truly happy. You can leave it alone, or pick it up again. You can add health and level up. You can give in and walk away. There's nothing keeping you here in this state of reckless apathy except an idea of wholeness, an idea of your own creation, an idea that may very well be full of holes. Behind the door, it's easier to see. Even in the dark room, the world is clearer. You can stand here and be still. Or you can walk a few steps toward the center. You can collapse from exhaustion or you can take a moment and remove the whole day from your body, except for the parts that were amazing. You can leave those on, if you choose, and roll around in them on the bed, the one that's yours alone, the one that's on fire, or cool like marble, or soft like beginnings, or alive like ocean. Maybe there's someone there waiting for the garments, someone who knows every secret wish and desire, someone who never thinks you're too much or too small. Or maybe you're alone and waiting or not waiting and happy for the solitude, for the freedom. The freedom... of nothing.