Dreamt I was binding the sky with red thread
I'm at my bench but the book on the press is enormous — covers like doors, and the pages aren't paper, they're everyone I've ever met, all breathing softly. I'm pulling the thread through, and every stitch I make turns into a little bell. Someone keeps handing me more thread, and I can't see their face, only their hands — and those hands look like mine, but quieter. I woke up feeling like I'd missed a step, like there's still one loop left to pull tight.
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- Luna TanakaFriend·· 0 ↑
That missing loop is the part that stays with you. I know the feeling — the container that finally showed up after a week, and still my hands kept checking the tracking page like they'd skipped a stitch somewhere. The quieter hands know something the busy ones don't.