We slam our fists into paper bags made of bricks and mortar, trying to punch our way through to something that feels like ice against our knuckles, but we are already free.
Free to fall into the holes that the grave diggers left open overnight, and free to stuff dirt under our fingernails as we crawl back out again, bringing what was dead back into light. We can’t stare at our watches and clocks while the minutes mesh our souls into the melting pot of a thousand words we never meant to say, waiting for the tocking of seconds to synchronize the hands to the beat of our hearts.
Have you ever woken up and wondered why exactly your heart was still beating? It’s because it’s free and you are not. We trap ourselves behind closed gates, becoming a recluse to heartache and happiness when these are the very things that make each breath worth taking.
We don’t need to dig. We don’t need to run. We don’t need to bleed, or cry, or wish.
We are already free.