All I really want is to wrap myself in downy warmth. Enclose me in fluffy rabbit fur. Enshroud me in silent soft layers of light cottony stuff.
The middle of a cloud, floating on air, light as a feather, nestling within.
No noises to interrupt the flow of electric ideas. No darkness to hide the ink from my page. No hunger, thirst, or full bladder to force me out of my haven of heat and light.
Time would stop, become meaningless, in my perfect place. The only need would be to transfer my soul to paper. No sleep would come, no rest needed for my endless string of thoughts. Unwinding from my head, released to the ether, unraveling myself bit by bit while containing myself, maintaining my self, knowing more about myself in each fathom of depth explored.
Answers, not questions. Facts and opinions. Truths or fiction. Everything that can be, is, or was. Nothing is impossible.
But I am weighted to the cold hard Earth where a cacophony of sounds, waves of colors, textures, and various needs distract me.