I shall find a beautiful place, abandoned, with the dirt of decades staining the windows, and I shall claim it as my own. It shall look over a park and I shall watch the people go by, wondering how they each came to be there and what their stories are. Some shall have a spectacular elegance about them and I shall imagine them sitting around a long table, sipping their expensive wines. Others will have the look of dejection and depression; my heart will shout out to them, embracing them as kin. Then of course there will be those who walk on sunshine, and I shall pick them easily from the rest, for they shall tread lightly, as though there was a cushion of air separating them from the ground upon which they walk. The homeless too will play their part, stalking the grassy expanse, and settling down on the uncomfortable park bench as the light grows dim; I shall watch them the closest, for they are the ones who deserve much more than what they are given.
In that place, I shall find who I am. As yet, I am not one of anyone, a mere outsider, waiting to be sorted into a category I have no wish to be in; the walls of words shall be my prison, but I shall strive each day to tear them down. Perhaps I will be successful.
In any case, it shall be somewhere far from here, where the people speak a different language, and the air tastes different. I will float away on the breeze one day and arrive somewhere where freedom is rife.