I keep a box of stars beneath the bed, for days when I run out of magic. When my soul loses its sparkle, I take out that box and gaze at the stars, until I shimmer again.
I keep them next to legendariums, for when my heart runs out of hope. When I can’t find a way forward and the world seems dark, I reach for those bright vivid tales of old Norse, of magic and myth and old one eyed gods who are as dear as friends, until life doesn’t seem so bad after all.
I keep a crate of words under the bed, for days when I run out. When monsters start eating my words, spewing hate and spitting doubt, I reach for the box and find words of joy and hope, until I feel better.
I keep scraps of positivity in bag beside the legendariums, for when I can’t find any. When my mind focuses on negativity, bullies me, mocks me, humiliates me, I find that bag of positivity and I remember that I am worthy after all.