I want to travel. See the world, get lost in a place far, far away. I want to smell new smells, talk to people who don’t know English. Have conversations that matter with someone I probably never will meet again, but always keep in my heart.

I want to have a great apartment with white, wooden walls and a smeg-fridge. With art everywhere and clean surfaces.

I want to make a baby’s room, even though I am not having any kids just yet. I’ll put the huge Donald poster up there, and some Winnie the Pooh-cards. The stuff I keep saving for no reason but this.

I want a loft that is filled with lights where I can work and design and be creative, like any other cliché graphic designer. It needs huge windows, a lot of daylight and an iMac.

I want to actually live my life and not snap and tweet it. I would like to enjoy the moments I have with the people surrounding me and photograph them. Then I want to create lots of albums filled with memories, so we can look back when we’re old and both laugh and cry over the amazing times we had together.

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