I want something new. A change in the wind maybe or a different buzzing in someplace else. I want a new tune and a new beat. Some new steps, swaying my hips and moving my feet. The old routine has been going on for too long. It works out and its dependable, but new is the need of the moment.
New faces and new breathe. New laughter and new smiles. New feels, new touch and new insects crawling under my skin. Not those old butterflies.
Heck, I don’t even mind some new tears and a few new heartbreaks.
As long as I haven’t been there already, seen it already.
It’s getting all mundane and predictable. And I’m getting all cranky. Uncontrollable cranky.
Sometimes I dream of a new me when nothing else comes to my mind because I have exhausted the possibility by over thinking. This new me, she wouldn’t over think. And she’d be dignified with ice-cold stares and the world at her feet, commanding respect. An Iron-fist woman. Or sometimes a gypsy – tanned by the sun, not a care in the world. Free as the wind that blows her away to distant lands. All cheer and laughter with stories of passion and foreign lands to charm her granddaughter with.
And at times I just dream of being a pixie… with a couple inches added in there.
But I am bored of dreaming, and I want new realities. It needn’t be exciting and it needn’t be adventurous. But new. That’s all I am asking for. New realities for new dreams to be made up.