Sometimes I just want to run away.
On warm summer nights, when the temperature is just perfect, I think about my life as I stand in the breeze and wish for some crazy amount of freedom that is totally unrealistic.
And that moment just takes me back.
I remember having dreams of flying as a child. Up so high in the sky that nothing could touch me and I remember that I was happy and I was free. My hair blowing behind me like a superhero cape, my arms at my sides as I kicked my legs to fly up and around.
Music was always the same for me, especially classical. Just like the dreams of flying, it can take me away from all of it. My own little vacation in 10 minutes of notes wrapped around emotions I thought I could only feel in extreme circumstances.
Pure. Perfect. Freedom.
These are the things we forget as we grow up and then crave later in life, like mouse craves scraps.
All the extreme emotions that seem to balance out as we grow up and realize we should just sit and be calm.
Hysterics are for the young, the unstable, the women.
Forgetting the breeze, the freedom, the feeling of forever happiness wrapped around the perfect concerto, the perfect dream. We fall prey to the traps of life as we attempt to achieve those things we feel we deserve because we are a certain age or at a certain point - marriage, children, house, car, that dog named Ralphie.
So then we stand on the porch and think of running away, even though we know that it's just an impulsive moment in time that is fleeting, just like most extreme emotions always are.
I've never wanted to forget any of it, but when you attempt to retain all if it you really can't - there are to many moments so only the big ones, sad ones, most beautiful, wonderful and the worst ones ever seem to survive over time.
Those are the ones that change up and mold us into what we are today and what we are destined to be down the line.
If you did remember it all you would probably run yourself mad.
When I feel like running away I stop myself and try to figure out why, normally it's fear. Fear of hurting some more, fear that I'll grow depressed again, fear that I'll end up alone and bitter, fear of life.
Life is so scary, especially when you know you're not "normal" because that just makes you different and different is nice, and strong is wonderful, and holding your own is respectful, until you just want someone to hold you instead, but you know that won't happened. Moments like that just bring confusion - then it's just another thing, another reason to fall into the non-hysteric side of life that allows you to become mundane - but safe.
Because when you fit the perfect mold - p's and q's in a row - you won't get 86'd from yourself.
That's what I like to tell myself when I condemn myself and put myself down for a lifetime of hell and damnation.
Then I realize I've been trying to run away since I was 6 and I wonder if maybe it's just time that I did. People like to say that you can't run away from yourself, this is true, but 27 years is a long time.
Maybe my ex-boyfriend from 3 lifetimes ago was right when he called me a gypsy. Or maybe I know that there is more to this world than being trapped in Ohio.
Either way - when the breeze is just right, and it cuts through my robe, I can't but help and think of running away - for a moment I love myself and my eccentric way of life and for a moment, when the Aladdin Suite is playing on my computer I can fly again, and I can breath.
it may be completely