I think I’m trapped inside my mind.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my mind. I love how quickly it thinks and how funny it is. I love how smart and stupid it can be at exactly the same time. I love everything it’s given me, my unique perspective, all the rational pep talks and illogical debates, but I think the mind gets lonely without the body. There is only so much it can do on its own.

I don’t want a lonely mind. I want one surrounded by memories and experiences, not just thoughts and ideas. I want one filled with lilting notes and hoarse laughs. I want one that is tart and spicy and sickly sweet. I want one that is engulfed in colour and warm sun-kissed breezes. I want one that leaves scars and raises the hairs on my arms. I want the dreaded pit in my stomach, the joy of fullness in my lungs, the burning frustration in my throat, the dropping of shoulders when I sigh.  

I want to escape from my mind, not to find sense but to feel the senses.