By Jessica Jordan
I have dreams, big dreams, to live on a tropical island, where I’d eat peaches, mangos, and pineapples for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I'd live in a bungalow on the beach, with an outdoor shower lined with emerald tiles that glisten when the sun beams down on them. An open kitchen, with those same emerald features and wooden shelves surrounded by flourishing plants. A welcome mat full of sand, a shoe rack lined with sandals, and a wardrobe overflowing with bikinis. I’d bathe in the sun, soaking up the rays. My skin would glow, tan and soft. I’d create art all day, paintings, drawings, and writing journals packed full of poetry. At night, I’d play my records on full volume, pour a glass of rosé, and stand in the spotlight of the moon and watch the ocean wave goodnight. But dreams are funny and reality hits hard that I am rotting away in my hometown.