There's an inner gypsy that longs to run, longs to see the rest of our world. She wants to run her fingers through the sands of every coast. She wants to stand under waterfalls and let the water beat her brains through her skull to wash away all the stress and manic thoughts. She wants to soar through tree tops in the morning and allow good drinks to loosen her limbs and her inhibitions. She wants to let her hair down free and let it get crazy with sea breezes lightly combing through her waves.
Slowly, slowly... coming up to reality. Opening my eyes. Stuffing the gypsy back into my jeans pocket. It's not real. It's not happening. There's no break from reality. There's no releasing of the anchors that keep me here. But there's comfort in the weight of them.
No amount of running will keep me from where my heart belongs. It's here. It belongs here where we have support through family, friends, schools, amazing doctors, therapists, and award winning children's hospitals. Which is important when your children don't break bones but aim for the head instead. No amount of running will keep me from seeking the solace of familiarity.
So the gypsy sits on my shoulder... she whispers sweet nothings of early morning calls to prayer in Bahrain... she paints rich scenery across my mind of lush, green rice fields in the Japanese countryside... she brings me the scent of dew dusted plumeria branches framing the back door of a beach cottage in Hawaii... she breaks crisp, hard rolls baked in the early morning hours from the European bakeries I frequented. She longs of being set free again.
Until then, my adventure will be in stolen moments in the dazzling brilliance in my babies eyes and quick weekend getaways with my mister.
Slowly, slowly... coming up to reality. Opening my eyes. Stuffing the gypsy back into my jeans pocket. It's not real. It's not happening. There's no break from reality. There's no releasing of the anchors that keep me here. But there's comfort in the weight of them.
No amount of running will keep me from where my heart belongs. It's here. It belongs here where we have support through family, friends, schools, amazing doctors, therapists, and award winning children's hospitals. Which is important when your children don't break bones but aim for the head instead. No amount of running will keep me from seeking the solace of familiarity.
So the gypsy sits on my shoulder... she whispers sweet nothings of early morning calls to prayer in Bahrain... she paints rich scenery across my mind of lush, green rice fields in the Japanese countryside... she brings me the scent of dew dusted plumeria branches framing the back door of a beach cottage in Hawaii... she breaks crisp, hard rolls baked in the early morning hours from the European bakeries I frequented. She longs of being set free again.
Until then, my adventure will be in stolen moments in the dazzling brilliance in my babies eyes and quick weekend getaways with my mister.
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