Excerpt from, The End Of The Line.
I feel tender, but not like a flower or a love story. Instead, a deep cut left weeping in the cold wind, like scabs that one picks until they leave scars. I wish I could tear out the hard lump in my throat like tissue.
Have you ever just wanted a free mind, one where you can simply exist and forget everything; not because you don't enjoy what you are doing, but because it will allow you to do anything you wanted? A mind free of over-thinking consequences or risks of actions? A truly free mind? It's something I wish I had.
I also wish I could heal correctly, but for now, I would like to curl up and just cry, tenderly.
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