I'm a vagabond.
I've strayed from my family, but I am happy.
I've joined a traveling circus. All I brought with me was my favorite doll.
I was never bored.
We were always moving.
I made friends with the bearded lady and the contortionist was my bunk-mate.
I walked the rope and wore a tutu. There were no clowns.
One day we caravanned across a mountain range and I lost my doll. I kept the group back for a few hours looking for her but she was gone. We moved on without her and I was sad.
Our travels seemed to be never-ending now.
We would pass valleys and cities and flat ranges and we never got to where we were going.
Eventually, I forgot about my doll and focused more on my unchangeable carny life.
A stationary life with a mom, dad, and steady education was way out of the question.
I accepted this.
I remember this vibrantly:
one day as we passed around a bend I saw this magnificent view of a valley.
I had never been there before, and everything was happy and bubbly and colorful.
Like straight from a shroom trip.
It was Candyland.
And I woke up.
[I dreamt this when I was about 6, not knowing what mushrooms even are yet, and it was only until highschool, driving back in the bus from a volleyball tournament, that we turned the bend and it opened to a valley somewhere around La Canada. I had never been there before, but when I saw the view, it was undeniably Candyland, and I revisited my freak show friends. They had found my doll.]