I want my room to boop your nose when you walk in. I want the yellow curtain to lava the walls and warm you. I want you warm sand safe, barefoot and brave, grinning into the volcano light.
I want you to see everything I love, on the shelves, and in the mirror. I want you to see how well it all has loved me back.
There will be too many dinosaurs, and a cloud that lights up, and a disco ball full of plant, and every tool I use to reach you will be on hand for the grabbing. I want familiarity and surprise in every corner.
I think I will buy a little ceramic stone pot for the table, so I can melt marshmallows with a friend. I think I will not buy a bookshelf, but simply let the books pile where they will.
I want a textured nest that holds me no matter what shape I am. I want a basket of snacks, that I promise I will not eat in bed. I want to be able to snap a photo from any angle and be delighted by what it has captured. I want to capture a snapshot or shadow of everything I love.
And I want a lot of floor space.
A lot of floor space for a tiny space.
I want to spin, and spin, and spin until all my worries turn to gold.