I am twenty-three and I crave serendipity. I crave the inability to allow minor things to define me. I crave early morning coffee, in-depth conversations, and productivity. I want to create, mold, make, then re-shape my circuitry. I want clarity when it's cloudy and unity when I'm lonely. I want to be sixteen shades of blue in a room of maroon. I want to be curious and cultured. I want no beginning nor end, only middle ground — a wallflower with a wildflower's spirit infinitely abloom. I want to be silly and sappy. Witty and wishful. I want to write saccharine sentiments on mirrors in cheap lipstick and surround myself with inspiring oddities. I want scavenger hunts, a marathon of documentaries, a collection of melancholy melodies, and crisp hikes through forests talking with the trees. I want fog in the dead of night and your warmth till first morning's light.

I am twenty-four (soon to be) and I want to be unafraid.