Freedom Is...

Finding freedom in the decay of love.

Photo by Lê Tân on Unsplash

Darkness was freedom when I met you in it.
But our love unraveled cocoons, galvanized strange beginnings.
I thought, “This is what transformation feels like.”
When you hit me with distance, I hit you with, “Please don’t go. Please let me in.”

There is so much I want you to say to me, but the words will not leave your mouth.
I am desperately searching the lines on your lips,
looking for any drip of affection.
I find none.

Freedom is knowing that a connection once close could now be fraught;
Succumbed to rot.

freedom is no words left to speak and that loud, loud silence,
And I embody my freedom by choosing to cry.

Sometimes loneliness rots your insides to hollow cavern,
and when all is said and done, rivers have paved their way through;
They dry into hallways and your tears dry, too.
So much space again, so much love to give.

Freedom means lighting the torches,
and inviting others in.
The warm air that fills these hollow halls creates an opportunity.
It births weightlessness. 
Weightless, like love; like playground swings.
We will decorate with the joyful frenzy of children who draw on the walls.
When love isn’t so serious, it feels like…
Freedom.

And now we dive in.