Wanderlust

These are why the concept of living abroad is perfect:

They would love me as a tourist, the perfect stranger who doesn't speak their mother tongue and love them unconditionally because I do not know the truth about the country.

I'll work there just to get by, just as a job, not a profession.

I'll write stories, cry over sad novels, watch some comedy movies, eat healthily but eagerly, study foreign languages, paint some emotions, travel to another country, dance under the rain until I'm sick, watch the sunrise, plant flowers, drink botomless tea, dye my hair in absurd colour.

I will discover music, landscapes. I'll learn how to sew, to make dresses and sell them eventually. I'll learn how to cook and how to live. I'll visit Paris, eat the desserts, go to bookstores, sleep all day and go to Vienna at warm climates. I'll take pictures, frozen the memories in time. And when I'm old, I'll dedicate my life to a cause.

I don't think I'll get married, I'll be completely on my own. I'll cook for myself and do everything for myself. I'll watch relationships rise and fall, but never in one, I'll learn that maybe being alone not always equals to being lonely. I'll survive without having to worry about myself getting no love. I hope the love I got for myself is enough. I'll build a home.

I don't want to live in a life where people are always disappointed at me. I don't want another life where people have high expectations. I want to live a life with a new identity, a life where I don't know any pain or sadness, only content. I'll travel alone and be happy alone.