Blue Closet

The chamber is small, the size of a closet that somehow, despite the constraints of white walls and ceiling, still shares the periwinkle blue light of twilight from the world outside. I am leaning lazily into the only door of the closet, holding it open easily with the weight of my body against it.
The lower half of the door is solid wood, painted white, while the upper half is like a French door, made of many panes of glass divided by a thin frame of white painted wood. My body pushes into the door, lightly, almost seductively, my entire front side completely aware of the sensation, the hard, solid mass against my flesh; the cool, constant temperature of its form.
The closet is filled with the soft blue light, a color that is as clear as it is solid, both things somehow being true. The space is empty, without even a wooden bar across the side for hangers and jackets. I stay just on the periphery, leaving the chamber free of objects, my body inside the space by only a few feet.
A pleasant breeze blows through the closet, coming in so easily it seems as though there is no roof, no walls. The ceiling appears to be blue, clear, leading to the stars.
The air moves naturally inside, softly, looking for places to caress and journey. I am aware of the cool current on my hands that press easily, lightly into the sides of the hard, wooden door. I feel the air on my chest, above the low-neckline of my white shirt. The thin skin of my chest and neck tingle with the moving force of air.
My reflection in the glass panes is one of softness, of surrender, of a woman without rush, hurry, or stress. The face reflected back is calm, with dark eyes that tell stories in soft whispers, eyes which seem to laugh in silent bliss, needing no ear for its tales. My hair, in soft windswept curls along the side of my face bounce gently with the breeze. My loose fitting long-sleeved shirt, made of lightweight muslin cloth ripples softly, so quiet it seems almost silent.
Coming from somewhere far away, I hear the sound of chimes tinkling lightly on the current of moving air.
I realize that I should write down the details of this chamber. The blue, the mood, the calm, the reflection in the glass.