I don’t want to be a tired student anymore. I don’t want to walk outside and be surrounded by buildings, cars, and stores.
I want to live in a castle, roaming the halls during the night with only a single candle to light my way.
I want to search feverishly through ancient libraries, pouring over texts from ages past.
I want to wander the moors in a blood red ball gown at dusk, barely able to see a foot in front of me due to the fog.
I want to write elegant letters to my family, friends, and lovers. I want to read, not because I’m required to, but because my desire for adventure cannot be satiated by the physical alone.
I want to host lustful Bacchanals with a group of highly pretentious friends, those who, like me, just might have the bodies of those who dared cross them decaying in a dungeon.
I want to exist, not for others, but for myself.