Wild Flowers

My Worst Habit: Daydreaming and Running Away from Problems.

I am on a boat in the ocean; the waves are carrying the vessel up and down the crests and troughs of the water. The salty breeze blows my hair across my sunburnt cheeks and the sky is wide open, with cotton ball clouds dotting the brightly colored blue sky. I am lost in the sea of my mind, a marine of memories.

I am lying in the middle of a field; it’s a summer night and the sight of stars aids me in my escape. Fireflies illuminate the dark that surrounds me, and crickets sing symphonies late into the night. The light of the half moon illuminates the silvery silhouettes that fill the large open field I am laying in. A deep sigh escapes my lips; my breath goes unnoticed in the summer heat.

In the same field, it is daylight now, and wild daisies dot the deep green grass. I think wild daisies are beautiful flowers; their home is where they grow, freely and anywhere the sunlight pours onto the earth. I admire these flowers, never plucking them from their roots, just studying their delicate white leaves and pollen yellow centers. Sometimes I like to think what it would be like if I were a flower, or a bumblebee buzzing between the daisies.

I snap out of my daydreaming, I am in my car driving down an open highway. It is late in the afternoon, music is blaring from the speakers and the windows are open. A late spring breeze is whipping the loose hairs in under my baseball cap as I pass road signs heading in the opposite direction of what I’m driving away from.

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