I dream of New York. Laying in bed by my window where you can hear sirens and horns honking and the occasional person walking by under your window. You take the elevator up to the top floor. You find the set of stairs that take you to the roof. You burst out those doors to the most breath taking view. You see skyscrapers and various other building with a view of the skyline in the distance and a view of Central Park. You breathe in the city. It gives you instant hope. You walk down the street and you see no one you know. You’re perceived only on first impressions, it’s the picture of anonymity. There you’re not the shy, fat girl. You’re the brilliant, stylish, confident scholar. There you meet a man who loves you and your body. He sees you rolls as peaks and valleys. Your scars hold your secrets of the past. He finds your bed head endearing and your need for knowledge sexy. You have friends that you meet at your favorite hole in the wall and they actually called you to meet up with them. You have a city that never sleeps at your finger tips. Full of adventure and fresh starts. Hope and dreams.