Kip Unfiltered

The hot sun beams down on my back, making me sweat more than I already am. I strip off my puffer jacket and admire the green of the hill that I have climbed for the past thirty minutes.

The plethora of greens, yellows, and oranges floods my vision of emotions, like I can almost feel the colors. My heart has this way of feeling something without having someone to confirm it. I suddenly feel a rush of inspiration, an itch that ricochets throughout my body and into my hands, buzzing with excitement. And I know that I must paint it.

It’s quiet- I don’t hear a single voice, a single purr of an engine or the loud bustling sounds of a city. The noises in my head come to a slow stop as I breathe in the fresh, juicy air of the earth.

The zipper of my jacket- zipped all the way up- clacks with every trudge I make along the hill. I am huffing and puffing, realizing that I am no longer at peace, as the sound of my zipper is a constant reminder of the world I am in. A reminder that I belong somewhere, with responsibilities, with expectations. Like a dog with tags around its collar, reminding people that it belongs somewhere and is owned by someone.

I long for a life where expectations made by myself aren’t bound by my own insecurity. I long for a life where I am not held prisoner to my own thoughts, my own voices, my own uncofidence.

I wonder if in an alternative world I am living this life. I wonder if she is happy.