Concrete jungle where dreams are made of

New York, the city that never sleeps, the city of dreams, the concrete jungle where dreams are made of. 

Well my dreams are certainly made up of it.

I’ve wanted to go from the first time of seeing he manhattan sky line, jagged and tall and full of stories, 

Oh the stories.

The romance, comedy, heartbreak, love, family, tears and laughter and goodbyes and hellos born in this city, on each corner,

A writer can’t help but be inspired.

I’m writing this in a coffee shop, on a corner, a minute walk from my dad’s office, thirty seconds to my hotel and a cross of the street to a diner,

It’s what I’ve been dreaming of for so many years.

I’ve cried with happiness at least three times.

And after having lost my writers voice for about three months-

I’ve found it.

After lunch I’m going to Times Square and Central Park so I’ll write more then but for now- here’s what I wrote on the plane, I hope you like:

I wanna see the world. Not ‘backpacking across Europe to find myself’ or ‘hiking up the Alps to ski’ I mean I want to sky dive and scream so loud that I think my throat will rip but feel wind on my face and feel the rush of blood in my veins and 

I want to drive a moped up a rocky classic American cliff, with that shitty music that always plays in those scenes in my ear and instead of being the one watching, to be the one driving and

I want to turn up to a country half my school didn’t know existed because it isn’t somewhere with Instagram worthy views and I want to turn up with a tenner in hand, three spare clothes and a friend, nothing else and just see the country how it was meant to be seen and

I want to scuba dive so deep below the sea I forget the taste of clean air, seeing the miles on miles of just ocean, conspiring with itself in a language we’ll never understand, a world we’ll never understand and

I need to be in a festival in Mexico and lose myself in the shouts and music and noise and chaos and raw emotion thick in the air and forget that there has ever been a moment of quiet in this world and

I need to sit in a studio apartment in Brooklyn and hear shouts and honks below me while I curl up with a classic book and just belong and 

I need

To 

Live.

I’m young and naïve I’m sure, unrealistic and idealistic, almost definitely but I want to live. I don’t want suburban England and mothers’ meeting and football games. I don’t need mortgage and debt and insurance-

I don’t want structure god damn it! I want to mess up and make mistakes and mess around and be loud and a kid and a unrealistic idealistic one at that because we’ve been told our entire lives we need to grow up but what we need to do is

Stop.

Love, Hea xx

Author: hopingeverafter

i’m a 14 year old girl who loves nothing more than putting a pen to paper. there's something beautiful about manipulating the English language to provoke an emotion, and it's what I love to do. if you have anything to say about my blog then I'd love you to.

5 thoughts on “Concrete jungle where dreams are made of”

  1. That is the way you are meant to feel. I love the fact you want to live life and not be contained by it. You need to experience and feel things and spread your wings.

    Like

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