When the first few bubbles begin to rise from the bottom of the pot, with the promise of a boil coming soon, I wish I could tug on my sleeve and voyage a hundred thousand miles in an instant.
When I’m taken It’ll be to the canals of Amsterdam or a sunny park in California. I’d like to walk within view of the water in which ever manner it may stream and feel the sun not as a burden but for the warm kiss it can be. I’d pass a day in breaths that only come from the sunlight, which means that I’ll suffocate unless I return before night.
When the next day starts with me in my bed, I’ll start it anew with an idea in my head. This thought isn’t the same as the day before, at least not exactly, because today I know more. I had a chance to break from my routine and touch the face of the world in a spot that is less blemished, and I carry a new windy soul that’ll blow away the old worries like a tempest.
When the shadows seep in like malice and loneliness, my fingers involuntarily twitch at the end of my strings and tug at the worn ends of my sleeve. I wish to fall in to the sky. I wish to spin around and around as the clouds plummet at me as fast as I do at them, but the last second will find a gift from gravity.
When gently like leaves in the fall do my feet touch the ground it’ll be in a valley basking at the frosted tips of mountain. I’d like to feel the size of the natural wonders take my breath away for as long as they reflect the light of day. I’ll walk and I’ll walk with my feet in the grass without a mind for the hours that have past. Dusk though will know me for the tourist I am and return me home from my time on the lam.
When the next day greets me through the curtains of my room, I’ll rise with confidence born from the journey I went through. How could I remain the same after a day in a place so far away? A new and reborn me will be evident for all to see!
Until I feel lost and tug at my sleeve.