Silk. Only one letter separates this word from sick. I've had a lung-extracting cough for over 2 weeks and I'm tired. I haven't been able to walk all week. My soul has come to rely on those walks. It feels sick without them. My body, my spirit, both sick. And so, my mind slips into silk. . . a silly little escape. Sick is exhausting. Saturdays should shimmer with potential. Silk shimmers.
I can feel the cool, smooth fabric on my cheek. Silk is soothing, erotic, exotic. Ah, the Silk Road. My mind slips into the smooth regular rhythm of my feet as they hit the hot, sandy dirt beneath them. I walk from no where to no where with the promise of silk connecting my beginning and my destination. Silk is all that matters. But, the dessert is hot and I am tired.
Day gives way to night. A cool breeze stirs the walls of my tent. I wear a garment of the sheerest silk. Seven veils have I. A 1001 and one nights stretch before me like a silken ribbon. I weave tales upon each one. These tales fall from my lips, silken pearls of wisdom.
I swaddle myself in silk and close my eyes. I am in a cocoon. Reality will just have to wait until tomorrow. Today, silk is all that matters. Silk.
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