I see the same sky, feel the same air, smell the same flowers. And yet something feels different.
Maybe it’s something in the water. Maybe I’m just plain old blue. And then of course there’s that computer sitting in Buen’s shop with all my stuff on it, being held hostage by the whims of irksome technology.
Maybe it’s all of the above.
You get to own your feelings. Whether they’re good or bad or pretty or ugly. I wish I weren’t so disposed to moodiness. Or prone to isolation-type behaviors. I wish…I wish…I wish…
What I wish is that my dreams would catch up to where I am now. That my brain would kick into gear and get up to speed. I wish I could wake up in the morning and not think for a minute that it’s ten or twenty years ago.
For a few seconds, I’m fooled into believing that I have all that time to make different choices. (And naturally in your dreams, you make the right ones. Because otherwise it’s a nightmare.)
Those few moments, while your mind is blurred from sleep and your eyes aren’t properly open yet, can be such a cruel time. Because it tricks you into believing that the dream might still be real. That that ship hasn’t already sailed.
Sometimes I just wish I was invisible. That I could slip sight unseen into tight corners. And fly free as a bird over huge expanses of blue water, light as a feather.
Sometimes I wish I could disappear. Just walk out of one life like an actor in a play. And once the curtain goes down, become a whole new character. As simple as changing clothes.
Just that simple.
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