i like tiny things almost as much as i like hidden things.

out of sight, out of mind, that's where i am. i'd like to be folded away between the sheets, closed between pages of books, hiding in the corner of a box under the bed. under the ferns at the bottom of your garden, stringing bells on the leaves. i don't want to fade away as much as i want to hide, to not be seen or thought of for a while. it would help if i wasn't here, a tiny thing scurrying between people and places. instead i'd be hiding under flowers in a valley, peering out behind clouds over mountains.

i'm the little thing making the overturned tea cup quiver, maybe you should teach your cat a few things, because i'm not a mouse and i don't particularly like fine china cages. you're a lovely tailor though, it's a shame about the twist. it's only a tiny button-hole though, perhaps no one will noticed. it's very hidden, and like me, so small.

so small.