This big city of ours.

Sometimes, I just want to break free, like a loose screw that just happened to roll off this repetitious bicycle of a lifestyle. I want to go to a place where the sky is big, the stars hang in mid-air, never quite in reach, like suspended animation. The air would be fluffy, stuffed with white clouds that seem to blanket the land, if it not for thin strips of bright, sapphire blue. We could drink frothy milk from bowls with big lips, and lie on our stomachs, hair caressing the soft of our necks. A slight summer breeze could sweep our skins, then droplets of pink rain could drizzle, clinging on to anything with purpose. Then life would be perfect.