The Creative Urge To Drop Everything And Run

Streetlights flicker off, signalling the near approaching dawn. The lights burn away the dreams I held onto during the night.

Life would’ve been so different if I would’ve believed everything my seventeen year old self thought. I want to believe that its our flaws that make us beautiful, that make us powerful. But when I’m shrouded in a shame oh-so-deep that I can barely look straight at myself in the mirror, what do I expect?

“Where will you live?” They used to ask me. They’d ask me in Paris and they’d ask me in New York, they’d ask me in Los Angeles or on the way to Lima, Peru. I’d answer truthfully sometimes, and lie other times. Some people would ask me in earnest questioning, others in blasé indifference. I suppose, it didn’t matter where I lived or was going to live. But I always imagined I would live somewhere exotic, that I’d move around, see the world for a bit.