Today I am yearning for an empty space - my own empty room.
I am wishing that I didn't have so many things even though in truth and comparatively, I don't have that many at all. I wish for cool and worn wooden floors. I wish for a white-painted radiator that blends into the white-washed walls. I wish for sheer curtains and soft sunlight coming in through the windows that reach almost to the floor. I want a simple brass bed messily covered in muslin linens.
I hope for the time the stretches on, for the life that does not demand my time. I want the time to read books. I want the time to write them. I want to cancel all of my plans. I want to break all of my promises. I want to abandon my few things and start over somewhere. I dream of shunning all obligations and lust after the glorious selfishness of doing what I want when I want to do it.