Magic Cabin

My writing workshop started again and here's something weird I wrote tonight. Let's move here?

a pink and brown weird and magical looking cabin in the woods with flowers around it

We are not accepting endings anymore. We had enough the last three years. There is a sign on the front door that says ‘fresh starts only’. You can enter and begin. Begin again, begin from the end — it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s a start of some kind.

There are fresh kittens in the corner and the door to the right will take you to your childhood home. The shit brown one with the giant rock in the front yard and the two fuzzy trees that always looked unfinished to you. That was landscaping in the 80s.

There’s a door to the basement and if you go down there you’ll fall in a bed of lavender and you’ll be reminded of how he hated the scent of lavender, how that always confused you. How could such a soft smell be so offensive to anyone? You’ll want to sleep down there and you can. You’re allowed to, so long as you promise you will only have good dreams. Nightmares are not allowed in this house. You leave them at the front door with your dirty shoes and yesterday’s socks.

There is a kitchen and you can start cooking but never finish if you don’t feel like it. You might get hungry though, you might want to feed the friends sitting at the table. The dishes will disappear. You will not have to worry about them filling the sink.

The cat will always want to cuddle — usually in the yard where there is a hammock waiting for you and as many mangos and pineapples as you want to eat. There will be nothing for you to do and you will not feel bad about that.

This is a house made of only beginnings. There are no endings here. We do not put periods on the end of sentences. We do not finish a thought. We are suspended in our joy or sorrow, whatever you wake up wanting to hold on to. And you will always wake up.

There is no death in this house. No dark cloud of gloom hanging over you. If you leave we can’t make any promises, but as long as you’re here you’re safe.

You’ll go on walks with your mom or your sister or that favorite friend from high school. You’ll pick tiger lilies at the creek and bring them home and put them in pretty green glasses that hold fresh water that will never evaporate. The flowers in a constant state of fresh, as if just born into the world. Just like you, they will never die.