Until one day she just let it all fall apart.

The agreements, the facade, the appearances, the maintenance.

And whispered to herself, as if to wait for the wind to turn its back on her, “I choose to not know again.”

I choose wonder.

I choose curiosity.

I choose guessing.

Pretending this way is the sold guarantor of nothing valuable. At the cost of ignoring the ever-receding horizon that tells us all how wide the remaining peripheral is beyond our sight.

At very least if I’m not going to have a fucking clue what I’m doing here, I’m going to go back to the childlike acceptance of that instead of this charade we’ve adopted and called “adulthood.”

I’m going back. This plunge into a circular life promised me everything and only supplanted my heart with a vacuum. Giving me a life so loud I can’t hear myself feel.

I didn’t fucking come here for this bland, overcooked hostage negotiation on how to live.

I want the bloody, tangled, and raw. The creativity that looks like chaos and feels like a forest floor, outlined by a canyon horizon and colored by the saturation in overwhelming emotion.

To taste the words of every poet, drink down the notes of every song.

I came here to experience the closest thing to as escape from my spirit and the devastation of my humanness.

I didn’t come here to dance for approval, to please your critics, to prostitute our collective fear of truth.

I came to breathe the naked truth alive and glaze over the eyes of those who’ve forgotten.

I dare you to follow you right to your soul.

And I fucking dare you to show the world.