If I could, I would still these itchy feet. I’d plant them right here and watch roots shoot up from the red clay and snake around my ankles. Morning glories would creep up my calves and bloom white and purple when they reached my knees. My pulse wouldn’t quicken when I closed my eyes and smelled saltwater and the soles of my feet felt hot pavement. My breath would finally rise and fall evenly in my chest, and I wouldn’t have to always be searching for something new. I’d finally be wise enough to know that everything I need is right here, right now.