Time has slowed way down. I feel it stretching into ever-thinner spools of gossamer, strung this way and that across the myriad doorways of possibility that fill each second and every breath. Those breaths become entire new worlds, ripe with green juicy wonder and dripping with the clear cold freshness of the breath that comes after, and after that.
Nineteen. I count backwards, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, until I reach the touchstone that began my realization that I have become a Time Sorceress. And with every moment hanging in stillness, if I choose for it to be so, I have infinite time to use the power of deep desire to create my every What Comes Next. There are no limits, and there is no end, for every new breath brings a new limitless world to populate from that same deep place, if I should so choose.
Worlds are created from my lips. From my heart. From the scent of my skin. They spin off into the light beyond and shatter into millions of gleaming shards, each tiny bright light an entire new world of its own.
I drove off an island ferry tonight onto an oft-traveled road that led to my home and bed. In the darkness, or in the silly-putty stretchness of time bending, I felt like I had driven onto a new planet, an only partly familiar world that stretched into foreverness at the end of my headlights. I sped past mountains and lakes. I breathed and counted backwards again. I created one more world from the scent of home, a world that grants me limitless new worlds ever-spinning from each breath, ever moving into shards of light, ever asking for more, more, more.