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Writer's pictureTanya Master

it feels like home



sometimes it feels more like reality than a dream lying in bed somewhere between sleeplessness and the subconscious my eyes flickering open and shut like the delicate wings of a butterfly instead of my yellow flaking ceiling I’m sure I see shooting stars and the faint band of our Milky Way I’m immersed in it— glowing orbs of magnificent white light hues of purple and blue— breathless in bliss it feels like home

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