She yearned to be inside; a world where little specks of glitter settled upon your shoulders. Where the weather is always perfect, where every building is at your disposal; a place where time stood still. She would shake her precious snowglobe till she thought it would expolde. Then, when she felt the thick, overwhelming sense of reality begin to set into her mind, she would shake it again.

As her imagination began to rule her world, a faint voice sank in the back of her head, reminding her that fairytales and perfect worlds don’t really exist. The voice would creep up with the sad, sorry purpose to keep her from forgetting the truth; to make sure she knows that raindrops do not sparkle in the real world.

But whenever she wanted to escape the soap operas and the traffic lights and the paperwork, she knew just where to go. A world of still perfection, highlighted by a gentle shimmer. A world that came to life with the flick of a wrist, and was always at her fingertips; right next to her bed.