Forget the books you want to write. Think only of the book you are writing.– Henry Miller (from Henry Miller on Writing)
Cushions and blankets collapse into each other. My mint green sheets are tangled elegantly within themselves, weaving along my mattress like vines. I lay down, stretching across its threshold, which always seems to welcome me with an open embrace. I wrap my arms around the floral print duvet, jumping into the waves of fabric. It is soft and warm and tender. I take in the scent of laundry and of...