The Great Indoors

I can't breathe.
I hate my room now. I hate every indoor.
I want to tear down all the walls and run.
I want to plunge into a cold pond. I want to feel the chilled water engulf me and shock me. I want to inhale the frost, feel my lungs turn to glass, and see my breaths in blue puffs.
I want to stand under the sun and feel it burn my skin, my nails, and my hair.
I want to look up and cup its glowing disk between the palms of my hands.
I want my heart to melt into a pool at my feet.
I want to feel the wind crash into my body and break my bones.
I want to walk barefoot on grass. I want to wiggle my toes in the dirt and feel the dry twigs prickle my skin.
I want to dance a Sufi dance. I want to close my eyes, throw my arms in the air, swirl around, and lose myself in the sensation of spinning.
I want to sleep under a huge oak tree. I want to sleep to the sound of its humming branches. I want to wake up to the light washing its leaves.
I want to eat wild berries, and feel its juices drip on my fingers.
I want to go bungee jumping. I want to feel the rush of leaping to the void.
I want to hold a lantern and walk through a forest at night.
I want to sit near the top of a pyramid and sip a cup of green tea.
I want to stroll in crowded streets. I want to laugh with strangers.
I want to stop being afraid.
I want to get away from the indoors.