If I could paint my world, it would be in CYMK, hot of the press, ink still slightly wet. Everyone would read classic books and the Time’s bestsellers. Naps would be mandatory, after a cup of tea and strawberry cheesecake. Neighbors would have to go over the river and through the woods to ask for a cup of sugar. Meals would be made from freshly caught fish from the streams, coupled with vegetables and fruit still warm from the sun’s kiss. Wine would be abundant and ever flowing, water crisp and Arctic cold for parched lips.
Music would constantly be playing, but no headphones would exist. Symphonies would overlap spoken word, vivacious trumpet notes countering the soft strum of a ukulele. Education would be welcomed, teachers revered – all would have access to higher education and, even after completion, all would still be constantly learning. Everyone would have the inner desire to make their one life in this particular body worthwhile – to take charge of where the reigns of their lives led.
I write to entertain, to inform, to remember. To show to myself, years down the world, that I had a life worth living without regrets, when my mind is speckled with doubt and non-functioning synapses.