I want to time travel back to the 1800s so I can be a wealthy woman who writes poetry and classic literature in my overwhelming large library that has books reaching the ceiling, all of which I have read. I would live with my close lady friend with whom I would wear a suspiciously large amount of trousers for two upper class women of the time.
I would attend balls regularly in luxurious ball gowns that elegantly trail the ground behind me as I walked.
I would discuss literature and politics with fellow poets and writers. Together we would start up a secret society that shares poetry, analyses dreams, admires constellations, shares secrets, wears a signature item of jewellery that only members possess, and, ultimately, works together to overthrow the government, fuelled by the flame of social liberty, each and every one of us prepared to give our lives for the cause.
And at the end of my exhaustingly long days entertaining my wealthy guests with my book readings, and picturing a society that allows everyone to find happiness, I would run through the grounds around my house, alongside my close lady friend, made up of wildflower fields, laughing and twirling with pure, exhilarated joy until we eventually collapse on the ground in fits of laughter and happy exhaustion, hand in hand.
If I could time travel
