freedom can look different, so different, when it comes in the form of a few stolen hours

freedom can look different, so different, when it comes in the form of a few stolen hours. obligations, duties, chores, meetings fulfilled, made and met. a few hours before another one hits, or sleep overcomes you. you can spend it numbing your brain with booze, masturbation and meditation(sleep). or, escape to the public library or bookstore for more books you’ll never read.

freedom, when it comes in the form of weeks of workless hours, with no school or parents to stop you either–that kind of freedom is a feast upon which you can’t possibly stuff yourself enough. that kind of freedom makes you stupid, pulls you off down byways of no consequence, sends you to the doctor from imbibing too many strange pills and concoctions.

freedom, when it comes in the form of an almost forgotten siren’s fantasy song, is a wistfully bitter pill you can’t possibly swallow in its entirety. those repeat waves of tantalizing nostalgia where you met the love of your life on the campus quad and she was just as pretty as julia roberts or sandra bullock, but loved books and eastern mysticism plus the beats. syrupy sweet visions of being a celebrated artist or novelist, or folk singer inside bohemian parts of large, cosmopolitan cities worldwide.

freedom, when it comes in the form of a certain knowledge that years later proves to be false, is surely the gift of the devil himself, because nothing less would do from such a character. what can be worse than wasting the best years of your life racing toward precipices, falling freely over them, and clawing your way back up–all while believing wholeheartedly that this freedom or that is lying in wait for you the next time you leap?

freedom that comes when all the ones you care about have been talked to, paid attention to, told how much they mean to you; that comes when the floor is swept and cleaned, the clothes are folded and hung, the groceries purchased, the dog walked, the car washed, the body toned in jog and workout, the brain nourished by the knowledge of the day, the spirit and soul enlightened by the church community; that comes when you only owe something to the lovers of money–that freedom tastes like clean, filtered water. it goes down smooth, fills every pore, and isn’t wasted; isn’t taken for granted–it’s a man’s sort of freedom, most definitely not a boy’s.

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