I need a break. And I don’t mean
a weekend shopping spree or Sunday social nights of endless yet meaningless,
hollow laughter. Nor am I referring to a fortnight at some sandy shore, staring
at the celestial, starry spectacle above the horizon, blind to the neon lights
behind me. I’m not talking about visiting the family and reliving the age-long
memories of dinner around a tree-long table, the hearth alive with the sound of
determined flames, disturbed only by the sounds of slurping and the occasional
snort. Don’t get me wrong – I want all of that; but none of that is what I
need.
What I need is a vacation from
the hurt, a holiday from the pain, and, if it’s not too much, a lapse in my
memory of all the bitter truth I have had to confront – a life-long break from
the old me. All I want is to be able to look at the mirror and smile at myself.
I want to go back in time and tell my younger self, “You’re beautiful in your
own definition. Let the world tell you differently, but don’t you believe it.” I
want to tell that old man in the street, “Hold on. It gets better.” I want to be
able to laugh without hurting. I want to love without hurting anyone. I want to
be the reason for someone’s smile as they lay down to sleep each night. I want
to hide away so I can be found. I want to lay my burdens down and never have to
carry them again. I want my sighs to be that of content and not of despair.
I want to travel to places whose
names I can’t even pronounce. I want to meet people whose scars and laugh lines
tell me a better story than what I hear from the world. I want to be able to
fall to sleep before my head even hits the cold, hard ground and I want to wake
up to the sound of children’s laughter, in beautiful sync with the birds’
chirping. I want to drink from the
gushing streams, leap through the woods with my furry friends, and fly over the
clouds with the tiny winged ones. I don’t want to soar like an eagle; I want to
be the eagle.
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