Sleep In

I want to sleep in.

I want to sleep in and awake from my dreams naturally, watching them end. I want to awake with a smile and a stretch, to silence. To a fan. To music playing on the radio. I want to have breakfast. Warm, tasty, delicious. Cold, familiar, crisp. I want to watch Saturday Morning Cartoons. I want to take a long hot shower and dress in clothes that fit. I want to brush my teeth and rinse with mouth wash. I want to stay inside and read. Read the classic words that inspired modern words. I want to read stories that defined generations, defined genres, defined people. Defined worlds. I want to watch movies. I want to see what my parents had seen. I want to watch them through their eyes with so much wonder.

I want to leave.

I want to drive, anywhere but here. I want to go North or West and find the mountains. Find the oceans. Find the worlds left behind by the yesteryear. Find the buildings, find the proof of their existence. I want to explore the natural beauty, the natural wonders. The rocks, trees, rivers and animals. I want to discover the ocean. I want to run barefoot down the beach. I want to be chased. I want to laugh with someone. I want to lay and watch the stars and wonder about what they could mean. I want to see constellations. I want to make love on a blanket under this amazing sight. I want to breath in the sea air.

I want to know.

I want to know what it feels like. I want to know forever. I want to know what it's like to plan, to worry, to work. I want to know what it's like knowing my last kiss. I want the covers stolen, I want the bathroom counter invaded. I want water bottles on my floor board. Fancy air fresheners on my mirror. I want cute little texts and ones telling me to bring home milk. I want to argue and make up. I want to hold hands. I want to cuddle and watch movies. I want to pop the question.

I want to grow up.

I want to say I do. I want to cross the threshold. I want to promise forever. I want to run to the store at midnight and hold hair back at six in the morning. I want to wake up to crying, to giggles. To questions. I want to watch Saturday Morning cartoons. I want to read out loud the stories that defined generations. Genres. My childhood. I want to show the movies the way I enjoyed them. With so much wonder. I want to grow old. I want to watch as they feel this way. I want to watch them repeat. And I want to go with my loved ones around me.

I want to sleep in.