Freedom (series #1,2)

There is a space in between my life that knows my name.

It is the space where my soul seeks shelter from the many storms of my life, it is where I can be comfortably numb.

Or maybe it is the other way around.

Maybe that space is where I am not allowed to be numb and it is my life that remains uncomfortably so.

The space where I am given the freedom to feel, the place where I am allowed to cry, to admit fear, to succumb to pain, to rage against the bonds that keep me captive.

Isn’t that pathetic? Over Four decades of life and I can’t differentiate between the nightmares and the dreams.

It would be easy to tell you that I do know the difference, that I know what is fiction and what is reality, but that would be a lie.

In truth, the more fiction I write the more those words come back to haunt me, again and again and again, yet still I write.

 I will never be free, even if the gods gave me wings.



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