I wish for a day where my dreams do not change for each day of the week.
But perhaps I do not.
Because some days I wish for a future where I am always busy, in a city that sleeps even less than I do.
Other days where all I wish for is a quiet life in the French countryside, where my only worry is what I will wear to water my garden.
Yes, these ideas are both fanciful, but it is so much fun to be able to dream mindlessly.
So, a toast to dreams that change daily and to people that do too.
You were supposed to be different.
The one that I didn’t have to give up on.
Someone that I could rely on.
But I turned my back and you chose her.
She who wounded me with words and threatened to do worse.
Cursed.
Am I cursed?
Cursed to tie myself to people, swearing that they’re going to be different.
Only for resentment to grow like ivy, sentencing me to a place of discontent.
I’ve called it paranoia.
When I think of the color green, I think of the trees behind my school. In kindergarten, when kids were cruel and words hurt more than sticks or stones, the trees were there.
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