I’ve spent the last so many months dreaming. I dreamt that I was flying throughout the grand canyon at sunset, taking pictures with a disposable camera, everything illuminated in fiery shades of orange and pink, I dreamt that my naked body was turning into canyons, I dreamt I was preparing to go on 20 hour plane rides across the world, that I was running races through woods filled with spiders. When I’m awake I think about the grand canyon on bus rides through urban sprawl, I feel like I’ll burst. I’m always bursting for so many things. Bursting to feel too much again, to be overwhelmed. To eat sandwiches on mountaintops and fall in love, to have adventures, to have the clarity of mind that only comes with spending the night together in a bus depot, rain soaked and exhausted, and waking up to a note on your lap— “I think you’re wonderful”.
I feel like this is a new sort of ache, though. I used to ache with the uncertainty, the worry that I didn’t know how to make any of it happen. Now I know things are possible. I’ll ache and I’ll light a fire under myself again. It’s all possible.
If worst comes to worst, the grand canyon is just a 37 hour drive away.