A story by Isabella Killoran with clothing by anaak.

My space, my universe. I can see my inside, I can look at it, stare
into it. I can be in it.
I move freely, spaciously. I expand and contract. I am.
I bend and stretch. I sleep, and I wake. I am.
No expectations, no shoulds or shouldn’ts. Joy and pain are all the same. Here, it happens simultaneously. Tears of sadness and laughter both wet my pillow, the girl and the woman both speak at once.
My space. Where I can see myself in the walls, in the ceiling, mirroring back my reflection, my highs and my lows. Last night’s spaghetti salsa stained my dress - today, that piece of cloth stares back at me, alive, breathing, bringing back the memory of bittersweet conversations.
Why do mandarines have such a strong smell? I feel like someone stepped into the room, uninvited. Yet she is welcome. It is a soft space. It is an honest place. It is a breathing space.

A changing space. We grow together. We flex and morph, I shed. It follows. We are adapting to one another.

Always aware of the fine bubble that surrounds me. What shall this be filled with? Who chooses?

I look at this room, it looks back at me. What can you see?

I listen. I open. I change. I am.