You think you’d be happy sitting naked on the floor of a beautiful boy’s kitchen on sunny mornings, but you wouldn’t like the feeling of dust under your bare ass. You say you want coffee dates with strangers, words as heated as the steam swirling from the black liquid, forgetting that you couldn’t take a single sip without cream and sugar. How could you swim across the ocean when you can’t hold your breath underwater?
What you want isn’t adventure, it isn’t cigarettes with girls who speak French, hair-dyeing in public bathrooms, a trip to a country whose name you can’t spell. You want a camera lens that won’t focus on you re-adjusting your bra strap, you want a view of life tinted blue so that your eyes won’t seem so red post-breakdown.
I won’t hold the camera on your desires, but I’d be happy to sweep the house or ask if you want more sweetener in your morning cup of conversation.