The Corners of My Mind

A golden key unlocks the door to a room full of gently floating bubbles. The key is my pencil as it flows over a milky white sheet of paper, smoothly clicking into place. Sliding into the groove, it slowly turns the lock, opening the door of my mind. This is not to say that my mind is made of bubbles; no these bubbles are ideas fancily flying about, ready to pop. Walking into the room is like pulling on the most luxuriously soft slippers. I search for the perfect idea and latch onto it before it has a chance to fade, nourishing it and coaxing it to grow.
The entrance to the room is secret and few can find it. There is one window and one door. Light streams in through the window reflecting off a million tiny dust particles and warming the room. The bubbles pass into the room through the window when it is open and slowly die off when it is closed. An overstuffed, forest green, chair sits in the corner with a little matching foot rest. This is my favorite place in the whole world. I like to curl up in the chair like a cat taking full advantage of the warmth that comes in from the window.
Snuggling into my cozy corner, I am ready to begin. Each stroke of my pencil sends a shiver down my spine, and urges me on to the next. Adventure and romance hold me fascinated in another world. Then comedy has me chuckling to myself. Tears slide down my cheeks as my characters suffer through tragedy, yet I sigh in contentment at the happy ending. I bask in the room with the floating bubbles, every once in a while grabbing one and adding it to the words on the page. This is how I feel about writing.