The Dream

July. I used to travel all the time, everywhere, long glorious distances. And recently having taken a short trip, the same inspirations upon my return: make the dream reality. My ticket out of the cube, out of the monotony of SOPs and dissection of paperwork and being under the microscope of management and at the mercy of shite and playing a game I swore I would never play.

Instead, help people, the universe, make a difference. And this is completely both plausible and possible. I want my son to grow up knowing he can do anything, to follow his soul’s intuition. I might tell him that working in a cube is society’s equivalent to peer pressure, look everyone’s doing it, look at the benefits, look at the security, look at the stability, look at your soul being sucked into the vortex of an A/C vent because you can’t open the windows from inside the hi-rise to scream: This is not the way to live. The padded walls of the cube would absorb your shriek anyway.

I will not drink the Kool-Aid but keep my gaze on the treeline I can see from the tiny corner of a window I share with a man who feels as I do and whom I’ve come to adore. I have a dream, and this is the conduit to that place where my son can live a life true to his gypsy soul.


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