I need to go

I need to go.

I don’t know where or how or when.

But I need to go.

I need to disappear into a random patch of overgrown wildflowers in no country in particular. I want to wear that yellow puffy dress that I’ve been saving for spring. I want to have baked a berry pie beforehand that I’ll sit under an oak tree and watch the breeze dance through the gravity-defying strands of grass. The clout glasses will be on and shoes will be off.

I want endless hugs from Helios and just enough clouds to gaze with unfocused eyes, but not too many to block his rays.

I need to go where there are birds. I need to hear their song, and only their song, to cleanse my ears of any other polluting frequency. I don’t want to hear anything but a distant twitter, the rhythm of their mating call, the whisper of their complaints. I need to sit in a tree, a tall tree, and look down. To dangle my feet as I kick to and fro, considering the consequences of falling into the arms of gravity. I want to decide and contemplate to the music of birds.

I need to disappear to the moon. To finally give one of my loves a phat hug and bathe in her celestial beams. I want to see the once patriotic flag, now a fickle cloth of surrender. I want to feel her jagged surface, ask why each bump is there and what meteors she remembers. I want to get crunk on the moon. To float and fly whilst slightly intoxicated. To see stars from somewhere other than longingly from my bedroom window.

I need to walk. To walk whilst the sun is setting and the sky begins to put on a show. A delicious melting pot of colours, vivid and bright. I need my calves to ache and my breath to heave. I need to feel goosebumps of the uncomfortable evening air, to swear under my breath because I knew I should’ve brought a jacket. I need to walk without purpose, or aim or direction.

I need to be at the bottom of a body of water, looking up. Watching bubbles escape my nose and feel completely and utterly weightless. I want to be able to rest my head on a sand bar and hear absolutely nothing for as long as possible. I want no one to find me, and for me to leave only when I want to. If I want to. I want my hair t swirl around like that of a Siren’s and the algae to begin to rest on my curly frame.

I just need to be away from everyone and everything for a bit. To retreat into comfortable Hermitude and decay if I choose to. To become one with the still matter that surrounds and to forget what an email inbox is. I want to release relationships with all for a bit, and the expectations that come with. I want to hear nothing, see no one, and feel stillness. I want to feel the ground beneath my feet again and serenity within my spirit. I want time to stop slipping through my fingers like fine sand grasped in vain but instead become a steady passing river, inviting me to take drink whenever I please.

This, however, is much too much to ask of a world crafted with the cement of monotony and mortar of the mundane. To suggest an adventure or any sliver of a break is a selfish request.

However, I can’t help but dwell and dote on my pathetic first-world problems whilst wondering,

What if I could skip through a meadow with an obnoxiously oversized floppy hat on and with my arms linked through Gandalfs’?

I really need to go.