I curl up next to warm spaces, warm creatures and hide,
waiting for a reason to stretch my body wide.
My body, becomes a space to hide into, legs furl in on themselves, arms folded in twisted manner, like some sheepish animal that can only be see at certain angles at specific times of the day.
I am hollow, coarse and tough.
I am soft, flaccid and weak.
I grow and change with the wind.
I shrink and crack from too much quiet.
So I burrow deeper.
Should I continue opening outward into the world, or should I go deeper into myself?
Do I need the warmth from above or can I create enough heat from driving deeper into my own soul and eventually spark just enough to disappear?
Then nothing will remain as I creep further into myself to be born again and into something else.
Maybe next time, I will learn how to glide instead of crawl.