Thoughts on April 29th, 2022.

I have this reoccurring fantasy, you know,

the sort where you step out into the balcony,

or silently glide past your front door,

and into the great, wide, dark unknown.

The air would be fueled with the dampness of rain and adventure.

The ground would feel real and raw against my bare feet that

before then,

only knew what it was like to explore cool,

smooth concrete.

The gravel would make a dent against my soles,

the leaves would rustle above me in celebration

of my independent choice,

and the stars would twinkle in laughter at the idea

that I hoped they'd protect me.

I would not go far, in this fantasy.

I would only explore places where I'd been to while awake.

Simply gliding through the night, visiting my waking memories

as an insomniac ghost.

It all goes back to some years ago, perhaps two, perhaps twelve,

where I left my backpack behind giant plant pots and planned my way

towards the park right across the street.

You see, my family and I used to live right next to the school,

right in front of this park,

and I'd ponder and dream of the day where I could

change my uniform skirt into jeans,

place my backpack behind the scenes,

and run as fast as I could across this street...

so that hidden in this park, somewhere, I could be.

My therapist now says these dreams of running off

are pretty self-reflecting, pretty telling, of a craving I've felt since

one,

maybe two,

maybe twelve or twenty-four

years ago.