dreamland

i want to be old. fragile. white haired. slightly fuzzy at the edges. acquire a careful step. measure my words. lose myself in my thoughts. i want to walk by the sea and feel the salt in the air and not give a damn that i'm not working. doing. creating. i want to have brittle bones and stories to tell. i want paper thin skin covering my sagging muscles. i want a slightly dysfunctional heart. palpitations in the night time. a good diet. i want to have cats without being ashamed. and feel their tiny paws on my head as they wake me up from an unexpected afternoon nap on the crochet covered armchair. i want to be the witch in the creepy house. children afraid to walk past. i want nobody darkening my doorway. nothing in the post. i want to talk to myself and grow roses. wearing a huge sun-hat and very faded blue jeans. i want to have ten locks on my front door and forget where i put the keys. deliveries daily. egg cartons accumulating by the gate. a quizzical look through the half drawn curtains. i want to be found, peacefully on my bed, dead and wrinkled and beautiful. wearing nothing but a weary smile.