A memory of a memory.
A memory of longing and wanting.
Maybe pain really does make me feel alive, real, and not unsensitive.
Sitting at the edge of a green field, detesting the dirt, longing for the feeling of want to come back.
The rush, a touch.
There is no more uncertainty, insecurity plaguing mind and being.
There is no more dependence.
There is no more unnecessary purpose and temporary excitement.
There is no more fleeting feeling and snatched emotions.
No more imagined love; no more imagined need.
When mired in the muck waist deep, all I could ever wish for is to wake up the next day and feel no more, to be unstuck from the excrutiating ‘maybe’ and ‘we’ll see’ stage. Now it is decided, done, free, I am me again.
I am your cold, indifferent jaded bitch.
I am free.
Do you hear me?
I am free.
.
Oh fuck, I’m free.