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[03 Jul 2012|10:05am]

ohmygod i want.want.want so much, it hurts.

i want a studio apartment in a bustling, artistic city, in a building that used to be a factory, with towering windows and pitted wooden floors. i want fresh flowers. i want kitsch and elegance side-by-side. i want to wear designer shoes with thrift-store shifts and layers of scarves. i want to write poems and take photos and make delicious delicate appetizers and cocktails with my girlfriends before we go out dancing at jazz clubs and back-alley parties.

and, turning.

i want a country farm-house filled with nooks and crannies and hidden rooms, filled with dogs and cats, surrounded by flowers, herbs and vegetable gardens, goats grazing and chickens safe in their hen-house or pecking the dirt in the yard, freshly-baked pies on the window-sill and laundry on the line. i want to breathe fresh air.

these things that i want suck the breath out of my lungs and render me frozen. i find myself watching my life and not living it, always wishing for something more, always living in a haze of getting through. i remember things i experienced as though they are events on film, rosy recollections that seem perfect in hindsight but which i fail to inhabit. i can already see myself as an old woman, wishing i had enjoyed the life that i remember as mine.
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