The sunny col de sac stretches out beside an open corn field on a summer afternoon. The faded pavement is lined with small, slightly tumbled-down houses that have been very loved for a very long time. Do you see that off-white house over there? Yes, the one by the picket fence. Do you see the window? It's lit up by a kerosene lamp. The teenagers over there have a sleepover every Saturday, and we can hear them singing Indie songs together at 1 in the morning. Sometimes they lay on the roof and watch the huge open sky. Sometimes they run free through the corn field and come back laughing and covered in mud. You can hear the farmer calling angrily after them. I never really expose myself, but I wish with my entire heart and soul for their bond. They all care so much about everything, especially each other. They see the world through new eyes and never get tired of magic. They spend the nights building fairy houses in the house's small front yard. I want that, even for a moment. I want to live as freely and unapologetically as them, and never doubt my worth. I want to run in the corn fields and find magic in ordinary things and cry freely in someone's arms. I want the light of a kerosene lamp shining on me.
