Running Free
by Emily Nicolaievna

We used to joke that we’d run away to Europe.

No planning, no goodbyes…

we’d just pick up a bag and leave,

never to look back.

We’d get small, trifling jobs as waitresses,

making just enough to get by.

We’d dance the nights away,

drinking expensive champagne and gin and tonic.

We’d sleep till noon,

and read classical literature

of great love and great loss,

of heroes and villains,

of life and death.

With sun kissed skin,

rosy cheeks,

and red lips,

we’d capture the hearts of men with a smile and a laugh.

We’d ride down beaches on horses:

bare back, hands tangled in their wild manes.

We’d buy only food from markets,

living on wine and cheese and bread.

We’d sing off key to old love songs,

Frank Sinatra’s voice crackling through record players

We’d learn to play the piano,

and then the guitar,

and later the violin.

We’d cry over sappy movies,

only watching the ones in black and white

Casablanca

Charlie Chaplin

Blood and Sand

We’d laugh about silly things,

about the price of gelato,

of whose picture would be sketched first,

and who would leave the tip.

Then frequent museums

and see art made before our time

that told the history of the world

of its cities, of its battles…

…of its people…

and if we had money,

we’d go see the symphony, the opera, an outdoor concert…

We’d swim in the Mediterranean Sea,

letting the water run over our bodies

and cleanse our souls.

And then we’d run into the night

And conquer the day.

I'm seventeen years old, still a good couple months from eighteen, and have lived in Seattle all my life. I'm quite the dreamer, head in the clouds and all that rubbish, and as a result probably think far too much. Writing is my passion and I hope to live up to the beauty of the craft