in a townhouse with old wooden floors that sometimes creak,
radiators that heat up the chilly ambiance,
brick walls spotted with imperfections,
and curved bright windows that overlook a street lined with tiny cars
i want to work for myself
and sit in my home-office
drinking black tea with my favourite biscuits.
my job will be something i am passionate about–
maybe photography or blogging or writing. maybe counselling too.
i want this life for my twenty somethings,
a time where i am able to focus on the things that will grow me,
a time of independence–but not loneliness.
on cold mornings in Notting Hill,
i will wake up early enough to see the sun turn from dusk to day.
i will wake up and pray.
i will throw on my thick wool jumper and some black leggings,
quickly feed my dog jasper
and slip on my old dirty converse as i close my front door shut behind me.
running down my front steps,
i will walk through the sleepy streets of the West,
rounding the corner to get to my favourite coffee shop.
i'll ask for my usual; an almond milk flat white with nutmeg sprinkled over top.
these are the days i dream of,
in lecture rooms and on crowded buses;
in the busy afternoon rush of determined students
and in my bed at night,
when i am mindlessly scrolling through tumblr.
one day,
if Notting Hill does come,
i'll remember the days i wished it were reality,
and smile as if i'd known it all along.
