Lyttle People, Parallel Worlds.

I don’t see them. I don’t hear them. It is only when I am present that they welcome my invitation. At the drawing table, quiet surfaces. Lyttle people come to tell me their stories. They lead me by the hand, and bring me along on their adventures in the embrace of the night.

Every flight is a flee, a longing to be. We reach for galaxies up and above, land soft gazes on buds and blooms, dive into an endless sky of blue. Their explorations carry whispers of my own — these misfits who don’t belong, who fit perfectly where they go.

Each expression is a wander, a chance to heal. These we live in our heads, secret worlds unknown to all. Who are we? Who do we want to be? Where do we go?

What lives do your little people celebrate?

☾