Magical bits of the world drift across the windows,their serenity spreading across the room and creating a peaceful aura for no one but me to see. My pink walls absorb the sunlight of the Saturday morning and seem to release a rosy glow that no body else will see. This morning is mine to enjoy with no company other than the muddled brown ghost with her one eye and fur that catches the glowing universe pollen that is carried everywhere. I am invisible in my small quiet world. Without the noise of the human world to pull me everywhere i don't want to be. Now I can remain alone and be a part of this pocket world of silence and lazy joy. The same way a tree makes a forest and a star makes a galaxy, I am nothing and everything.The ruler and caretaker but also the fiber in the purple comforter that holds warmth,like a softly glowing candle around my hazy,blurry, unimportant body that burrowed deeper into the covers where it became nothing more than a wrinkle in fabric among all others. Drinking in the new day with the amiable manner of a cat sunning themselves my mind,my true form, floats through the air,along with the hundreds of dust particles happily going about their day. I register the layer of dusty particles sleeping on my dresser. Dreaming of the stories contained between the polished stones collected from state parks and miscellaneous sicks of rainbows that had told stories to be told far away in the world of human values and refrigerator magnets. I giggle with the golden flecks of veteran days that found themselves caught, like kites in a tree, inside the soft forest that cloaked the cinnamon,mud,ash,and dust colored ghost. I play on popcorn kernels,tracing my fingers across the ceiling without dropping any dust to the floor. Named for a teacher, the brown ghost sits on her carpet, hazel eyes watching my every move as if she finds my wonder in this world and her presence to be "cute" like the small grey friends outside that don't realize how special they are to me. Their ignorance to how special they are is fine. As long as I see them again and know that they will have me when they think all hope is lost I'll be fine listening to them sing and watching them flit through the trees. This world is beautiful and mine to love. But as the morning runs its cycle, the golden contentment that floods my world begins to fade. As the happy glow is bleached and the morning continues I fall back into the covers, pretending to sleep while the materialistic human world awakens. I'm sad that the magic world has left once more and wish that it would stay and not be so overwhelmed by my life with the rest of humanity,but if it wasn't so skittish I suppose that would make it less special. After all, the real universe can only show itself in small pieces and will always come back.