i really don't know where to be today. I want to be a character in my book or a musician in a band or an artist filling pages up with beautifully intricate drawings of the world around me. Or in a deep deep sleep remembering what it was to be asleep when I was a child and scared of the thunderstorms/power cuts/loud noises and shadows painted across my sliding bedroom door.

i want to be sat in that tiny bedroom on the 80's red and grey carpet my face to the floor, laying out my marbles as little villages of people with friends, parents, lovers, schools, jobs and discos across the dog hairs and bits of thread that always seem to follow me around to this day.

i want to look out of my window framed by jagged stones in the old walls, thrown together with some cement and little pieces of folded up cardboard in between to hold them in place. imagining what is written on the little pieces of paper sticking out, knowing, from previous curiosities that if i did take the time with the blade of a pair of scissors or hair clip that the letter printed will be of old concreting companies or packaging from boxes.

i want to sneak into the spare room and curl up inside the spare duvet with my book and my cat and imagine i was in a different room in a different house without a bed or home and no family to wake me up with a shout up the stairs for dinner or to feed the dogs or brush my teeth...

i want to crawl into the fields next to my house through the tunnels of long grass, smelling like fresh summer dew and new cow pats just to sit and sing to myself all the songs from all the musicals i can remember. until i actually feel embarrassed in myself for enjoying the sound of my own voice so much.

i want to take long walks in the fields of corn and rapeseed plants backing onto my house, only to cry and indulge in teenage grief of growing up and acknowledging the world moving and changing and the fact that things, however hard you try are not perfect, will never be perfect and that boys hand will never really fit perfectly into your own. because thats what the movies and books and songs i listened to told me.

i want to lie on the table outside and look at the stars and smoke my first cigarette and light candles and be warm in my clothes and confused at the state of the world to a soundtrack of the band of my youth.

i want to take more time.

i know the dream was shattered years ago when i felt my heart being pulled in two directions. but when the shards are reflected in real situations, where homes are sold and hugs mean so much more than they have ever meant, that is when the sadness fills up my heart, my throat and my eyes and i feel like i can't quite manage to hold it all down and if someone looks at me, all they will see is a big pool of water and sadness that is heavy and warm and spilling into every inch of my footsteps away from the fields of that house.

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