I want to run away to Greece.
Wear mostly whites and blues and swim in the ocean every day and wake up to something new.
I’d change my name and dye my hair and be all by myself. For a few months, be somewhere and do something, new. Write and sing and run and get kissed by the sun.
Where would I go, what would I do, how would I live. I’m not sure of these things. I’m hoping it’s a vision that just works itself out. I would put faith into. I would buy my ticket the day before and stay in hostels and be with the air and the sun and the ocean all by myself. I’m sure I would write. A book, a play, a memoir, a poem. I would go to buy fresh fruits and veggies every morning and set up a spot for myself on the docks and I would go to the same cafe every afternoon for coffee or tea and I’d live everyday without thinking about anything but myself and how I feel and what the day has for me. Just me. I’d live selfishly and happily and simply. It would be more than a vacation and less than a move. It would be a few months. A month. A few days if I absolutely hated it. But it would be something for me. Something that feels right. I would write letters and send post cards with no return address. I would disappear for a while. My freckles would come back bold and my hair would constantly smell of salt and I’d smile everyday. I would not be lonely. I would not be sad. I would not think of anything that I would miss. I would just be.
And then one day, I’d wake up, and look outside, and I’d take a really deep breath. And I would decide that this was my last day. And I’d spend it in my favorite ways, with food and music and love and life.
And then I’d buy my ticket home.
And it would all feel like a wonderful, pure, dream.