I wanted to dream recklessly, Mama. I wanted to fly. 

May 28th, 2016, 9am

I looked at the disapproving looks innocently and announced important things.

If you’re a bird, I am a bird.

I didn’t want to hide my wounds. I didn’t want to fake a smile.

Is there space in the world for dreamers, Mama?

Melted chocolate on our fingers, kissing like there is nothing else in this moment worth living for.

Urgency, want, need.

Don’t crush our hopes and dreams, Reality. We’re wide-eyed optimists. Don’t take it all away.

Have you ever been on the highway and wished the road would never end? Your favorite music, old friends, junk food and a sense of adventure.

Can we pretend to be innocent children? Can we hide under the covers, getting lost in worlds of our own?

Starry skies, warm blankets, holding hands until the very end.

Sometimes, I want to treat your body like a museum. I want to tread cautiously and stop everywhere because everything is precious and mind-numbingly awesome.

Will you write on sticky notes with me and put them up everywhere? Will you eat handfuls of cereal with me and dance when there’s no music? Will you wipe away my tears when I act silly over ruined nail-paint, waking up from a bad dream and rushing to hide in your arms?

Will you tell me everything about things that excite you, terrify you, comfort you, raise you up? I would like to write endless notes to you, for you - amateurish poetry and ramblings, whispered conversations and happy laughter.

Grow into me.

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Boshika Gupta

Day dreaming. Dancing. Spotting fireflies in the dark.

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