The House on Mango Street

Do you sometimes wish you didn't have to go home? Doyou wis your feet would one day keep walking and take you far away, far away and maybe your feet would stop in front of a house, a nice one with flowers and big windows and steps for you to climb up two by two upstairs to where a room is waiting for you. And if you opened the little window latch and gave it a shove, the windows would swing open, all the sky would come in. There'd be no nosy neighbors watching, no motorcycles and cars. Only trees and more trees and plenty of blue sky. And you could laugh. You could go to sleep and wake up and never have to think who likes and doesn't like you. You could close your eyes and you wouldn't have to worry what people said because you never belonged there anyway and nobody would think you're strange because you like to dream and dream. And no one could yell at you if they saw you out in the dark leaning against a car, leaning against somebody without someone thinking you are bad, without someone saying it is wrong, without the whole world waiting for you to make a mistake when all you wanted, all you wanted, was to love and to love and to love and to love, and no one could call that crazy.

Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street