Sometimes I imagine myself in the United States, standing on a rooftop in New York, or lost in the neon of Las Vegas, or breathless at the Grand Canyon, letting the wind steal my thoughts. I want to taste American chaos, road-trips, wild motels, and endless highways that look like freedom. Maybe I’ll find a story there that finally stays. Maybe I’ll find someone who doesn’t run, and someone I don’t run from. I’ve been alone for longer than I admit, and even though I’m strong, I still want a hand to hold on flights and storms. If my dreams touch your heart, leave me a tip—maybe the next chapter will be written on the other side of the ocean.