we all pretend we have freedom. sitting quietly on the bus, wearing clothes in the tropical heat, waiting in lines, getting jobs and dreaming of holiday, marrying, tolerate those who misunderstood you, amazed by the good things people have done while you have the capability of doing the same thing.
and, replying to a ‘how are you?’ from a stranger with an unintended smile and variant of ‘good, thanks’ and maybe a line about the weather, while what you actually want inside is to run away.
but real freedom, the freedom that only truly exists to the mentally incapable who are too lost in their own worlds to be caged by ours, will always rush through our hands like sea and sand;
the real freedom belongs to us who cannot define what life is.
and, replying to a ‘how are you?’ from a stranger with an unintended smile and variant of ‘good, thanks’ and maybe a line about the weather, while what you actually want inside is to run away.
but real freedom, the freedom that only truly exists to the mentally incapable who are too lost in their own worlds to be caged by ours, will always rush through our hands like sea and sand;
the real freedom belongs to us who cannot define what life is.
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