These Boots Were Made For Traveling

{ again. }

I want to start painting my toenails red again. And climb trees and climb mountains and look at the stars and watch bonfire flames dance and breathe again. I want to apply gold eyeliner in the bathroom at work and spray myself with perfume and throw sunglasses in my hair as a headband and put on someone’s shirt, maybe my own maybe a friend’s maybe a boy’s, and call it a day and go to the bar again. I want to drive around with the top off my Jeep and the music up loud and empty beer cans in my trunk and wet seats because I didn’t cover them when it rained again. Scream and jump off the dock and then scream again. I want to be careless and fearless and reckless and stress less again. Have life move too fast again. And drink slurpees and pet dogs and smile at the sky and rollerblade and dance with my friends again. And fall out of canoes and fall into love and eat bacon and eggs at 3am again. I want bare feet so dirty that they don’t come clean until October and hair so tangled that I have to cut the knots out again. I want to sleep with my windows wide open and love being around people again. I want to curl my hair and tan on the grass and wear tiny shorts and go out and have everyone stare again. Stay up until 4 and wake up at 10 and do it all over again. I want to be that girl again. I want to try again. I want to try, again.

try.
______

{ I’m not exactly sure what this is, but the words just kind of put themselves together – maybe some sort of spoken-word poetry, but in written-down form? I don’t know if it’s any good but iiiii like it so (insert shrugging girl emoji here) tough luck. Also major props to you if you can get the right rhythm to read it with so that it makes sense! }