I’ve rewritten this post about 8 times now, because I keep saying everything the wrong way. Let’s try again. I’ll keep it short.

This season has been new, because I haven’t felt like running away.

This is where I am literally, figuratively, emotionally, whatever. I am here. And I want to have the freedom to feel the things I feel. I want to be brave enough for the normal things. I don’t want to be intimidated by hipster coffee shops. I want to at least have the confidence to wear leggings as pants if I so desire. I want to be a hugger.  I want to speak up in class. I want to be ok with being wrong. I don’t want to break eye contact first. I want closeness and adventure. I want dancing and mountain climbing and kissing and writing and running simply for the freedom of it. I want so much courage. I want to believe all the things that I write. I want to mean something. I want this to mean something.

I might only have a few weeks left in this place, or I might have a few years. But I want what I want from the depths of my heart and with a sincerity that I didn’t know I had. I want these things because they are good and pure and full of God. I want to be full of God. I don’t want to be afraid of myself or of you or of anything else. I want to feel freedom from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I want light bursting from my fingertips and leaving puddles of loveliness at the places on the table where my fingers have been tapping. I want you to feel it when I touch you, and I don’t want to be afraid of the consequences of that. I want to live freely. I want and I want and I want, but I’m not sure I know how to do anything else.

It won’t be long now, I can feel it. The words will burst from my veins, tired of being hoarded. I’ll open my mouth and speak to your eyes and everything I say will sound like, “courage, dear heart.” That’s the only way any of this will mean something.

“Step into it. Come closer.”