Dover, England.
September 2023
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I wish to be in a storm
On top of a mountain

Climbing down in the haze and fog
From a storm approaching from afar.

I want my feet to be soaked
In the wet grass

And the wind to be close to blowing me away
But instead makes everything around me sway

I wish for muddy hands
Nails needed to be clean free from sand

I want raincoats and gloves
And rain falling onto me from above

I want sprints in the field
And sore picnics that we call meals

Cliffs with frightening drops...

What is all of this for
If not for our true selves to show?