i want to make movies and plays and act in them and write in them. i want to do theatre and ballet and live my life in constant creation (and destruction will come along too, as it always does).
i think of my life, twenty-three years spent in regret, and in most ways i do not want to grow old. but i do not want to stay here either, where i am always a child. i want to be meaningful to the world, and to nobody else. but i want to lay my head on your chest until the day is done with us.
then i want to be remembered, but not for it to mean anything. i want to make poetry. i want to build a home of poetry and live there, laughing over cold coffee warmed over. i want to bottle your laugh in the winter, keep it with me on those nights, and spread it on the soil in the spring. i want to be anywhere but here, writing in a sleepy town. i never want to go anywhere else.
