wanting to run away, but not the real kind. running away like how you saw it in childhood. running to endless woods that hid magic and monsters and adventure, running to hills filled with flowers and frogs and grasshoppers. swimming in ice-cold, clear streamed that the sunlight skipped and hopped off, packing one bag of crackers out of the drawer and having them last forever, one juice box, two cookies. not having to prepare but knowing the future of everlasting happiness and sunshine.















