The feeling of a hand in my hair.

I want to be free. I want to do what I want, when I want it. I want to be able to travel, to dance, to go on a moment's notice and not care about who knows and what they think.

I want to fly. Away from this stress, these problems, this annoying commitment to places, to people, to work. Because soon it will be too late. I will be too old. And it will all become too real.

And what will I do then?