Everything.

I want to write everything. Every thought in my head, every sight that I see, every word that I hear. Everything.

I want to write about the fluttery, awestruck feeling I get when I watch the sun disappear behind the mountains. I want to write about the way I felt this afternoon, slipping behind the steering wheel of a car for the first time in months. I want to write about Christmas lights twinkling on the tree and the mystery and magic contained in the carefully wrapped presents beneath it. I want to write about how everything has changed, yet it is exactly the same. I want to write about growing up and moving on and figuring out who I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to do and what I'm supposed to say. I want to write about life in 222 Tingey Hall and capture the essence of our daily interactions. I want to write about all the things I have, all the things I've lost, and all the things that are just out of reach. I want to write about the comfort and peace that comes with wrapping myself in my favorite blanket and how different that feeling is from the way it looks--gaudy, neon, and confused. I want to write about the places I've been, the places I want to go, and the places I wouldn't step foot in if you paid me. I want to write about rain and late night thunderstorms.

I want to write everything.