I want to be a house. Old and creaky, after years of protecting inhabitants from cold salt spraying from a grey ocean. I want to stand under years of solemn charcoal clouds and bright moons. I want to be alone with my thoughts and experiences echoing down my hallway, as green, lush life grows up my abandoned walls.
I want to be a song. Soft and melodic, filled with hushed voices laid over the strum of a worn out guitar. I want to be played over and over again into the ears of creative minds. I want to hold memories and emotions that are brought up every time I am played. I want to be everywhere at once and nowhere at all.
I want to be a cup of coffee. Strong and hot, sitting in the morning light. I want to hold the entirety of the quiet stillness in my rising steam. I want to be the soft, kind entrance into a chaotic world.
I want to be a city street at night. Dark and wild, filled with strangers exchanging warm, stale breath. I want to be lit only by cigarettes and the soft glow of windows millions of miles overhead. I want to buzz with the energy of the unknown and the beautifully undesirable.
I want to be a sun-kissed morning. Breezy and free, uninterrupted only by the voices of lovers and friends. I want to shine with the clarity of fresh ideas and old passions.
- C. Weishaar