My Claim

 I was scrolling through green sage wall pictures when it hit me, "how much is the price of freedom?"

Maybe it's the soothing color, or hundred pictures of beautifully sunlight rooms I'd seen. There's an idea of how the morning rolled up in those rooms, the smell of coffee that tickled your nose, and all the spaces you had, with only your mark all over it.

Your very own marks.

How much money do I have to earn to buy the pretty house? How far the distance I have to run to reach it? How many time do I have to spend thinking about it? How long do I have to hold on to the thread I hang my live with?

When I thought about it again, I guessed I got it all wrong. I didn't really want a pretty house with green sage sunlight room. What I wanted was the feeling it gave me: a freedom to go by my rules, marking every inch of it with my finger prints, making it my own. My very own.

It doesn't matter whether it will be green sage or dusty pink or baby blue. As long as my name is written all over it. My very own.