Run

I dream of running away.
Almost obsessively.

I dream of running away, running until I have no money. Running until I'm somewhere where no one knows who I am. No one knows where I am, and I never tell them. Not until years and years later at least.

Stay somewhere...somewhere like Washington. Cold...rainy...forest, ocean. Perfect culmination of everything I love.

Write. Write until everyones stories are finished. Seth...Liz...Lucar...Gabriel....Abby and Kira...Violet...Anna, Rio, her love...on and on there names flood through my head until all their voices make it almost unbearable.

I would write, and walk to the ocean, gaze out across it, and wonder the things I wonder. Where will I be in my old age? Will I be alone? Will my mind ever calm down? Will I die before mental illness grips me and erases what makes me me?

Will I still be the same person? Who will lay in my bed and love me late at night when a nightmare rattles me to the core. Will I have children, later. Will they love me, will I be a good mother? Will things ever be like they were when I was little with my parents? Where will my characters go, who's heart will their stories touch. Who's pain will they ease? How much longer before I'm really, truly happy?

I would live for me, for once. Thoughts unburdened by what is best for everyone else. All about me, even if only for a little while.

I'd walk through the woods, always hunting for evidence of the werewolves I know lurk there in the shadows, just out of sight of my petty mortal view.

I'd search every rock and fallen hallowed tree for signs of faeries, sprites, and pixies.

I'd be content.

I dream of it so often I can picture what my house looks like. What I can hear from my bedroom balcony. Huddled deep into a outdoor chair, wrapped in a afghan, late at night, my notebook illuminated by moon and star light, chewing absentmindedly on a pen tip.

A tea or coffee wouldn't be far out of my grasp, steam rolling off it in beautiful wisps of forgotten memories.

I'd be so far away from everything and everyone. Every harsh word, the endless drama, deep probing stare of someone I dislike, questioning eye's that I have no answer to give to make there unwavering stare blink.

So far away only God would know where I was.

I wish...I could stop dreaming about it. I really do. Its like holding candy just out of hand reach of a small child.

Its unpleasant and cruel. For once I wish my mind would listen to me and just...shut up.