on fantasies

I have spent the last few days in my own fantasies, stealing moments to my imagination. I have envisioned seeing my book nestled between others on dusty shelves and tried to imagine what its pages would feel like beneath my fingertips. I have patterns that I would like pasted across its front; typefaces that I would like my words immortalised in.

And then the realisation hits that this is nothing but a young pipe-dream.

Yet I am okay with that.

To have a dream is a good enough start right now.

And in all those moments that I am wishing I am doing one hundred other things (most often travelling with my love or running a bakery) I am beginning to remember: to be where I am, and who I am with*, is at the moment a beautiful place to be.

(Diana and I took this picture in York. It reminds me so much of Alice's fantasy world).

*There is a family and one very important person I could not be without.