Wait. What?

we merge a bunch of syllables together and call it an identity. we make nosies to communicate with each other and call it language. we print a piece of paper with a person’s photo on it and call it money. we mark imaginary huge shapes across the earth and call it countries. we sculpt stones into human forms and call it god. we find comfort in a person’s silence and call it home. we find their jokes as lame as ours and call it love. and it all honesty, that’s all that matters.

Claustrophilla is apparently a thing. Read books under the blanket with a torch light. It’s not even dark outside. Chill under the bed. On the floor. Under the bed. Play hide and seek. Hide forever. Curl up inside a cardboard box. My home inside my house. Sleep with a pillow over your head. The weight induces sleep. Wrapped myself in bubble wrap. I’m too fragile for this world. Two is a crowd. Party is behind a dark curtain. Crouch on the sofa. Claustrophilla is definitely a thing.