I often dream of myself walking through the streets of Rome, savoring the golden sunlight. I’m alone but I’m enjoying every second. My soul is restless but it is whole.
In this dream, I can taste every fruit at once, flavors taking their time to know my tongue. I breathe in bliss and exhale every moment that came before this one. I carry a journal, that is home to my thoughts about how this city carries herself with effortless beauty; chaotic but grounded.
My head never falls low. I am an explorer, never staying still, all while standing secure in inspiration. I print my lips on wine glasses and smeared ink finds it’s way on my skin from all the poems written at some cliche café. In this dream, I am out of my element and alone, but I am found.
What? Can’t a girl dream?
