8.31

There are days I long to grasp in my hands. I wish to melt into the grass and the breeze and transform myself into something that would be content in that one spot for the rest of my life. But there are always ideas, notions of something better out there, something I should be working towards, something I need to earn, or just something different. The thing that makes the person I am now acceptable is the idea that my position is only temporary. Maybe someday when my youth is behind me, I’ll admit defeat. A seventy-year-old woman who never escaped the banal position she defaulted into. But now I am a twenty-three year old with dreams of importance, of traveling and writing and turning the ordinary into something spectacular. So I’ll let go of the days, of the minutia of what surrounds me, and I will turn my attention towards tomorrow.

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