My nephew made a dinner party. It made me miss everything about my childhood; how my mum would just leave me to play and I’d get to devise all these complicated narratives and friendship dynamics between animals that would ordinarily scoff each other up in the wild.
And then of course there’s the miniature food: glossy sliced ham, a perfect summer salad, a glazed pie ready for cutting. And FIMO crafted ice creams and burgers squished into being by my own hands.
I miss having permission to get lost in these little, intricate worlds. I guess that’s why we become writers or artists.