Just a little, because sometimes, from some angles, truth is new for me. I decided that if I am to be hated, I am to be hated for having a loud voice. A loud voice that speaks the truth. Truth that isn't always politically-correct or pretty to hear. Just plain, naked, sunburned truth.
The thing about words is this: they're sticky. They attach themselves to tongues, then faces, then ears, then minds, then souls. They attach with daring cohesion. Good words, and bad. Quiet words, and arousing. It's all about the fact that I may or may not be able to be soothed with five simple words: "Keep Calm and Carry On", and that's almost it.
And then there are thoughts. Thoughts are flighty, like, how have the children grown up so quickly? How have they managed to walk streets with confidence, give unapologetic hugs, share a goofy, crooked grin full of straight-ish, adult teeth? Where have they gone, and where are they going?
Maybe it's the same place that I'm going. Maybe I'm not supposed to find out. Maybe it's the generation gap keeping me from them. Maybe it's me, just running away as per usual. Running far, far, farther still. Always wanting, always traveling, always searching, always reaching. Never being specific. Never being picky. Never being frightened. Finding my own way, wild, wild.
Wild is the place that I have found. Wild is the place to which I will go. Wild is me, until further notice.