Maybe this is the place she sings of, the place for us, the place we go before we turn to dust. It’s somewhere in-between this world and that one. Like when you press too hard into your eyelids and the blood lit moving colors, static and swirls, all gather together like an old T.V. searching for channels. I like this warm and friendly dark space. The other night mine even had a smell. It was smoky-sweet, soft and deep, light, and sensual, like freshly fallen spring flowers transitioning from this life to their next.