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Description

it's days like this when i wish i was a piece of paper, and could just float away, get swept away by the wind... be anywhere but here.

     sometimes i dream about running away from school and just living off my photography and art. it's not that i don't like school, i'm just this free spirit... i need time to be free, time to be irresponsible, wild.
     sometimes i dream about being a hippie and living in tents with sunshine and folk music, bohemian cloths on my skin.
     sometimes i dream about flying to france and being a street artist, selling my photos to passers-by, and then being seduced by the night lights of the eiffel tower.
     sometimes i dream about going to the congo and working with doctors without borders, saving the hopeless and battered, war paint and cocoa skin, rainforest calls.
     sometimes i dream about being a lonely heart in the rainy city, leaving little poems, pieces of my life in diners, riding the subway aimlessly looking for signs of what life is all about in the lines and hollows of people's faces. and then i wake up and realize i'm not dreaming anymore, that this is real. this is me. and i want so badly for it to be every day... i just want to indulge in these subtle, special pieces of life.
                because in the end, they're all you'll have left.

Description

it's days like this when i wish i was a piece of paper, and could just float away, get swept away by the wind... be anywhere but here.

     sometimes i dream about running away from school and just living off my photography and art. it's not that i don't like school, i'm just this free spirit... i need time to be free, time to be irresponsible, wild.
     sometimes i dream about being a hippie and living in tents with sunshine and folk music, bohemian cloths on my skin.
     sometimes i dream about flying to france and being a street artist, selling my photos to passers-by, and then being seduced by the night lights of the eiffel tower.
     sometimes i dream about going to the congo and working with doctors without borders, saving the hopeless and battered, war paint and cocoa skin, rainforest calls.
     sometimes i dream about being a lonely heart in the rainy city, leaving little poems, pieces of my life in diners, riding the subway aimlessly looking for signs of what life is all about in the lines and hollows of people's faces. and then i wake up and realize i'm not dreaming anymore, that this is real. this is me. and i want so badly for it to be every day... i just want to indulge in these subtle, special pieces of life.
                because in the end, they're all you'll have left.