Sometimes she just wants to be free - not the romanticized screenplay of being in love or happy in some generic movie; free lie an animal with no reguard. Primal. Adapted. Aware.The kind of free that understands its mortality, but embraces its survival.Poetry is its own beautiful chaos, naked in its honesty for all to see - it shouldn't be any other way. And these feellings don't define us as much as they expose a certain quality of being, what makes us beautiful even in the ugly and creates this space of human. Maybe I have an affinity for the madness because it was always beautiful to me, and maybe together there is a window we can share if even for a moment, to escape and lose ourselves; to embrace the chaos and explore all the elements that we call life.
