Wild things.

My bookshelf is filled with tales of little princes and rabbit holes and wild things. My walls are strung with photos of sun and sand and stars. Of magic. A paper map is pinned with places I’ve been, and some places I’ve been only in my dreams. My room is the color of celery. My white linen curtains just barely shade the sun, that magnificent light I can never be too far from. In the morning sunlight streams through my windows and I know I have to chase it. I run down paths lined with trees, surrounded by a world much greater than myself. The sun never touches my skin but it touches the leaves above me, making them look like they are glowing from within. I know that my legs and my muscles can take me anywhere. I appreciate what my body can do. I appreciate the sweat running down it. I appreciate the breath within it that gets faster and heavier the further my feet take me. When I stop, my breath and my sweat and my muscles don’t. I walk out from under the leaves on the trees into the sunlight they’ve been hiding. I lift my chin and close my eyes. The sun warms my skin and fills my body and mind with light. I know that whatever the sun touches is a part of me too. I know that as long as the sun is shining I can do anything, absolutely anything I imagine. I’m eager for the future but in love with the present. I see goodness-in myself, in people. I crave adventure and fear and challenge. I want to be confused, amazed, enlightened, breathless. After the sun sets and paints the sky with color, and after the moon comes out to take its place, the world slows down around me. My mind slows down. My heart slows down. Stars sprinkle the black sky above me and fill it with the most magical kind of light. The stars remind me that the sun I love so much is just one of countless others. Of countless other suns shining light into countless other hearts across countless other galaxies. I wish I could pluck one out of the sky and hold it in my hands and press it to my chest. My imagination is a beautiful place. I know that I look at life through a child’s eyes in many ways. I know that I see it through the eyes of a soul much older than myself in others. Mostly, I know that I’m me. Just me. And that makes me happy.

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5 Comments

February 15, 2015 · 8:26 am

5 responses to “Wild things.

  1. Pingback: Miss LaQuist

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  5. Pingback: A scary, silly thing called fear. | Miss LaQuist

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