Bored if I Don’t
Wednesday, September 16th, 2015
September makes me feel as if I’m living in August’s ghost. I’m already envisioning everything that next summer holds in it’s veins. The daydreams, they haunt me. The leaves are falling to their death around me while my dreams fill my lungs with a flora so wild, the vines twist blindly around my bronchi. The life growing inside my lungs is so beautiful — so pure, but I can’t fucking breathe.
How do I surrender myself to the happiness of this moment when I’m continuously looking for the next adventure? Watering the garden of my being while my now’s are stuck in this drought.
Thankfully, my lungs aren’t the only organs in my body about to burst. This heavy heart of mine, so full of love, never fails to bring me right back to where I belong: in the now, weeding my lungs of unnecessary growth in order to make room in my crowded being for its own expansion.
I still dream of gardens and libraries, sometimes… until I remember that this silly mass inside my chest holds gardens greater than Eden and words so vast, the Bible would be jealous. I still dream of one set of fingerprints running all over every crevice of my heart, and then I’m planning my next escapade and imagining my own set of fingerprints all over the globe, and the future doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.
I don’t know if how vastly and wildly I love could ever make up for my inconsistent heart, but I do know that the places I travel love me in the exact same way I love everything that surrounds me: blindly, and I could never trade these seemingly endless fervent moments for a single comfortable lifetime.
Dress: thrifted similar here, here, and here
heels: old, similar here and here
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Wondering & Wandering