Saturday, 23 March 2013

A3: S7 - Perfect Future

When I close my eyes and picture my near future, I can see such beauty that it makes me want to squeal...

I see an open-plan studio apartment in the heart of the city, exposed red brick interiors and white-washed  wooden floorboards. Candles, lanterns, fairy lights. Cream and pastel colours. I see sheer curtains and plush cushions on the cream bed. Sprawling bookcases with tattered books stacked haphazardly. A small rickety wooden table with two weathered wooden chairs, only one ever used. Newspapers, novels and useless nick-nacks scattered everywhere, trailing from the giant bookcase. Polaroid photos littering the floor until I can be bothered to pick them up, and muse at what each contains.




I walk around in oversized jumpers and long socks with my hair in a messy bun. I curl up on the one huge burgundy and caramel leather armchair with lemon sorbet or tea or dance around the place in my pants with big headphones on, lost in the likes of Matt and Kim - Daylight. Or, when it gets a little colder, I'll turn out all the lights and light every candle and with a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa, I'll sit in the large bay window, and look down at the lovers in the street, playing in the snow as the delicate drops of white fall around them, and I'll be listening to Tom Odell - Sense.

My days are filled with writing. So much writing. I'd have a huge wooden writing desk, just for me and the mistresses of my mind to unleash ourselves onto.

I explore the very depths of my own mind and push on further to find a meaning to it all. Fiction. Fact. I pour my mind onto endless streams of paper which are pegged on a white twine line which is strung the length of the apartment. I buy coffee and eat bagels. I drink red wine with company and white wine alone. I go to the theatre alone and I live. I sing and I perform. I lose myself in the literate works of the greats again. I go to comedy clubs and laugh until I cry. I walk. A lot. I take walks into the city, into the country and into the forest, picking wildflowers which I'll put in vases around the apartment. I listen to classical music and I cry silently. I explore everything and pursue every curiosity which flickers across my mind. I scrapbook. Bubblebaths. Newsprint.

I take photos, lots of photos. I string these up on the line too, where they fit with the words. I act. I play. I write. I watch incredible films which move my mind so much that I cry and I laugh and I end up writing my own. I carefully curate my knowledge and intellect and chase the opportunities which I know are rightfully mine. I cycle through the city in the summer and smile as the sunlight flickers through the leaves and dapples over my sunblushed cheeks. I just smile. I see butterflies and spectral flares, campfires, night skies, wisps of hair and solitary trees. Ribbons, cream knit and polished white glass.

I don’t know really… just when I think of my future this is what I can see it makes me so overwhelmingly happy to my core that it creates this yawn-like feeling in my throat and it makes me want to cry. I feel so very happy when I think of this and my heart beats really fast and I feel a little ball of excitement in my stomach.

…And this is all just the beginning. Each day I feel I am stepping closer and closer to making this a reality, and whenever I get down, I just picture this all, and it just makes me feel better about everything.

The future truly is, and has very much become, the most exciting prospect in the entire world.