It’s a wonderland to a child. Flowing within each nook and cranny—mystical textures, and endless adventures awaited.

I might be saving the prince because I was an independent strong warrior princess or weaving my way through the thick belts—hiding in the caves or exploring them.

I did it all. With my great grandma’s mink coat.

Every time I stepped through the door, I was enveloped by that same musky smell that reminded me of dust or every smell of anyone who had ever been inside because my mother refused to open the window. The smell of the cotton and the brush of that itchy nylon that I so longed to wear, would rest on top of my sweet little head.

But I mustn’t forget the buried treasure that lay hidden deep in the wraps of a small little pink box that held my Polly Pocket.

It was a wonderland, because it was her closet.