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By Eowyn Wilcox if all the world were but a room and I an inmate in it, I should sleep day and night and watch the fan tracing circles on the wall. if my room were all the world and I could stay inside it always, I should sit in my chair with my mind adrift and watch the leaves as they changed. if my room and the world were one and the same, and I could live inside it, I would drift happy from morning to night, dreaming dreams of dreams and watching the light hovering like butterflies on my brain, shifting and melting and flowing into the wall.
