Writing Room.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

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When stressed I find myself escapeing to the same place latly.
A room, with hardwood floors that creak, high ceilings, long tall skinny windows with light that floods in just at the right time of day. . .
Practically empty except for large desk against one wall stacked with books and loose papers, which also have a tendency to spill out onto the surrounding floor...a few mismatched cheap looking book shelfs over flowing with odd assortments of novels.
My trinkets and random creative whims hanging from the tall ceilings, I have one of those old utality latters you see in stores a lot to reach them you see...clear strong strings with arts and crafts mirrors glued to them, catching the light and bouncing it off the walls in a rainbow of colors, dancing across the surface of everything they touch like some forgotten fairy tail creature.
I have my one corner with a easil and a small end table stacked with paints and paint brushs, unfortunetly the floor on that side didn't escape my random excited flair, paint splatters cover it making that corner stick out.
There is always music playing, everytime I open the door it poors out and hits me like a comforting wave, wrapping around me and submerging me in my world of writing.

This room is the room I've dreamt of and wanted since I was little, my writing room I long to have....I've just been thinking of it a lot, never wanted to tell anyone of it, so here it is.

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