There is a big black sky over this town, its actually a city but sometimes it feels too small for me, so I call it a town. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find a place I love as much as the people I love. They say too much choice can distort preference and perhaps that’s the problem. I feel so faraway from myself but too close all at once. And I want to get out of this town that doesn’t feel like a city at all. Half of me wants to pack a bag and dangle Biba on her leash all the way down the elevator and across the world. Somewhere outrageously new, somewhere completely foreign where everything will feel too new and too strange to be boring. At least for a little while. A week or two months or 3 entire years. Maybe I’ll find another piece to add to this puzzle of myself or perhaps I’ll float farther away from whatever and whoever I will eventually be. A mother, I hope. A writer of at least a few books. A woman with muscles stronger than most men’s at the gym. An owner of many dogs. A friendly old lady with a library full of books already read. Yes, these are all developments I aspire to see in me. At 27, I have already defined myself as many things: a loving daughter, a loyal sister and friend, a professional blogger, a reader, a writer, a runner. An independent woman in that marvelous millennial way. I know these things to be true but the gap between what I am and what I want to be seems to be stretching. It’s pushing against the walls of this city that feels like a goddamn town. I’m not trapped but I feel like escaping. I want to go but I’m afraid to leave. I feel so faraway but simultaneously, too near, too close, there isn’t enough room for me around here. How many times will I abandon a place I once called home? Or will a week away be enough, will that do? As always, I have no clue. I’ll keep on keeping on up and down these streets. I’ll hold out for summer. I’ll wait and see. What will be, will be. And whatever I am and whatever I become, will also, just be.