wanderlust

I want to travel away and get lost. And someday, I won’t be needing anybody’s approval anymore. I would teach, for it is the profession I tied myself into. I would earn a lot of money, spending it all on travelling. In the middle of the night, I would elope with my dreams for they have always been my sweetheart. Then, I would be like, ta-da! I would evaporate like bubbles in the air. You would find me: holding sparkles in Times Square in New Year’s Eve, parading in Disneyland, sleeping under Eiffel Tower for I don’t have money to pay for a hotel, aboard on a train in London holding a vintage suitcase, sipping coffee in Ireland during rainy days, walking slowly in the square of Athens feeling like Socrates, running away with gypsies in Scandinavia, learning Spanish poetry in Spain, singing operatic songs in Italy while in Gondola, praying in Vatican, drinking wine in Chile like a rich noveau, going along a caravan in Arabia, hugging Lions in Africa, counting the pyramids of Egypt, eating cherry blossoms in Japan, clubbing in Korea, riding elephants in Thailand, picking up seashells in the seashores of Maldives. And while travelling, I might have been the jack of all trades, any work would be just fine, like being a cashier in a grocery, ice-scream vendor, flower deliverer, mascot, mailwoman, saleslady, and a poet. I would run wild, dance in the rain, roll in the hills, sing at the top of my lungs, kick and punch the wind, smell the wild flowers and bathe in the sun. I would be totally lost, literally and figuratively. I would be the lost traveler, the unfound dreamer. And I would never ever come back. Unless, of course, there would be a man, who could find me, tame me with love and bring me home.