The Things You May Have

No, you may not see my thoughts. 

Yes, it's a wondrous place—there are many pretty things inside my head. A few weird, all interesting and wonderful and happy things. Oh, yes, it's a beautiful place, this place of mine.

Like an open meadow? you ask. Well. Yes. Except it's not so open, definitely not meant to be inviting. This place is all mine, after all. I do not have wildflowers free for the picking, nor herbs for the healing; there are no cool streams for your comfort. 

I suppose you could describe it—my head—as a dragon's lair, brightly packed with all my hoarded gems. 

Mine to keep.

Not that I don't let things get out of my space, and away from me. 

When I need more space for my lovely, growing collection, I give much to the peasants. Anything that makes my heart unhappy is theirs... yours. Anything worthless must be out so my mind and soul and heart can remain happy and free and elated. I dig to make the hole deeper, safer for my gems... all the excess dirt and stone and rock is pushed out of me. I hear that others use those things to build homes, so I consider myself a little generous. I could have, I suppose, kept both my gems and my garbage. But I have shared something. 

It's a lot of work and effort, but that's what you get from me: all my fire and smoke and all the bits of debris that would crowd my precious gems. 

* * * 

Something I wrote, writing with friends. 

The prompt: The Thing You Gave Away And Shouldn't Have