I'm tired.

Sometimes, more often than I'd like to admit, I find myself wanting to just run away from everything and find myself dancing to some good jazz until my legs can't dance anymore.
I find myself yearning to get drunk on the music and high on the smell of clean air, winter night's breeze and fresh snow.
I catch myself wandering to new corners of my imagination and each time it's harder to snap back.
Sometimes I just want it all to end and sometimes I just want to sit in a warm cabinet, away from civilization, snuggled up with a good book in my hand, a cup of coffee and the classics filling the house with the essence of life, making the house a home.
I'm just sad that my imagination almost never envelopes around my life, never even comes close to it.