I'm in the mountains; California mountains to be exact. There's a fire burning, and old wood walls from the 70's. There's a red plaid couch and a knitted blanket laying on the back. There's mismatched furniture and the musky smell of the forest. I'm wearing a giant tan sweater and leggings, in socks sipping tea.
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Perhaps I'm in my dream house now- the one in the Scottish back hills. Everything is white- the walls, the floor, the cabinets, the furniture. My windows are soaked in falling rain and I'm in a giant over sized sweater, leggings, socks, and I'm sipping tea. There are green rolling hills and old men herding sheep, and old walls made of stone still make history as they gloriously plant themselves in the hills where they've been for what seems like all of time & where they'll stay for the next centuries. There's an atmosphere only described by the words "gray" & "comfortable".
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The ability to remember. Is there anything more beautiful? That we can call on any moment of our pasts and have that small moment of that present in our minds.
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Remember when we had fantasies and we played pretend? I'm still playing pretend, except now instead of pretending to kiss boys, I am. Instead of imitating the big girls, I am the big girl. Instead of dreaming of having it all, I'm on my way to having it all.
I've made quite a mess of this, haven't I?
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