Utopia

I’m obsessed with freedom.

I’m obsessed with feeling things and feeling as safe in them as if I were wrapped in newly-dried sheets.

I wish to feel air against every bit of my skin and have my hair off my face.

I want to always drink hot chocolate, tea, coffee, and root beer floats and never have to make an excuse for it.

I want water to lap over my heels as they do to the shore.

I want to feel as weightless as a kid on their last day of school when the summer really begins.

I want to feel as alive as chasing ice cream trucks in pursuit of just a taste of the sweet life.

I want to breathe easily and kiss loosely and love wholly.

I want God to push me forward instead of always testing me.

I want to wear nothing and love everything at the same time.

I want kisses and no regrets, no excuse to be modest about short-lived affection.

If I could always smell lavender, I would, for it is the scent of liberation and peace.

Peace, such an uncanny resemblance to dissatisfaction.

So much so that I’ve begin to live in chaos.

Chaos means to move and propel, but always in the wrong direction, I’ve learned.

I want to feel as easy as putting on new glasses and finding that there is so much you’ve been missing in life.

I want to feel the hustle of a big city with the heart of a breezy valley.

I’m obsessed with freedom.

Alas, it is an intangible utopia.

I am forever bound by the chains of impossibility.

Serenity.

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