When lace feels heavier than your own skin, shed the fabric. Delicate is powerful. But nakedness is forthright. I feel myself falling asleep on a Sunday night, and the thought in my brain running repeatedly is only a what if. What if.. I worked so hard that things simply worked out? What if you worked so hard that what you wanted *merely* materialized? What if the body of your labor, the sweat that built your structure, stood like a skeleton in skin so that the lace of your dreams could drape across it. Powerfully. As though it were the perfect size, meant to be, a delicate dream crafted to fit like a glove by the work of your own hand. Goodnight weekend. I hope you, reader, have an awfully good start on Monday.