Becca wants

Spring. Outside. To be free. Sunshine. Fun. More time. More space in my head – or at least some kind of plug to stop things falling out. To be able to think clearly. To get wasted. To smile. To laugh. To fall in love again. To shout. To scream. To have someone listen. To talk. To share. A tidy house. Someone to cook for me. To know why everything good is bad for you. My friends to be closer. To run. To jump. To play. To be 24. To be 16. To be 12. To take acid for the first time. To know if fixing the past fixes the future or if fixing the future fixes the past. To understand physics. To hate photosynthesis a little bit less. To know why all the female lecturers I meet have massive chips on their shoulders. Lemonade sherbet. Old friends. New friends. To think less. To think more. To understand. To know. To reason. To fight. To dance. To be able to escape from me for a day, a week, a year. To be needed less. To be needed more. Excitement. Emotion. To be somewhere else.