I crave freedom. I ache for it. Like an addict, it blurs the edges of my day. This need, this next fix. You can't starve it off. This hungry monster, it's always back for me. For more.
I crave freedom the way people crave love, money, war. Power. My soul craves air. Beach fronts, train platforms, village prayers. Anything to appease the monster's lurking groans. My soul wants to see it, meet it, love it, love what's next, burst in the crashing moments of beauty and pain and revere.
I'm surrounded by leather and animal print. A soy chai tea latte. A job offer. An empty rent free apartment. A half finished bottle of red wine. Car, city happenings, lights and leather. Everything everyone dreams of.
And yet Regina Spilker spins through my ears and stirs. And the edges of my day blur. This restless need. This ache for openness. For sky and movement and ocean's sprawl. My dearest monster's call.
It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song.
"But you just got back" they say.
Got back?
Darling, I am forever going.