The Forget-Me-Not Opportunity.

I want that sky with its clouds scraped back
And cherry trees that keep blossom a while longer.
I want notes that break free of bars when played, and voices that break you out of reality.
I want days of sunshine for longer than two weeks, and not just in a strange place.
I want daisies in my hair, and for love letters to be written by hand, not in ink described by pixels.
I want essays about colour to be in colour.
I want late night drunken phone calls, and sweet nothings to be caught in pages not whispers, so that I can keep them forever…
And for “forever” to not sound churlish or girlish or remotely beyond possible.
I want nothing to seem unreachable; not you, or my dreams, or (god-forbid) the combination of the two.
I want to walk streets where people greet each other like they used to.
I want memories to make me laugh even when I know that is all they can ever be.
I want to get drunk without the morning reflection that greets me with two aspirins and a nauseous spinning sensation.
I want to see girls order dessert and not say they feel guilty.
I want to see men be gentlemen, and to do so with sincerity.
I want to watch movies all day and then run outside in the rain until I feel it through my clothes and soaking into my skin.
I want to dry my hair by a fire just to see how curly it goes.
I want to remember my school friends, and forget to worry if they will all remember me.
I want to catch myself smiling as I walk by a window and wonder if anyone else saw.
I want to see with fresh eyes,
I want to remember that that sky;
The one with its clouds scraped back is forget-me-not blue.

I want to see tomorrow not as an obligation,

but as an opportunity.