It’s instinct; fight or flight. He said stay because it would be stronger to stay. It would be worth it to shelve these hurts one after the other on the bookcase in my heart. Stay. Don’t run. I railed against the voice in my head that considered giving in. This is strength, too; leaving when it becomes too much. Knowing when to draw the line. Is it fair? What is fair, though. We could talk ourselves in circles, in battles of hypocrisy, in the tight-rope walking of jealousy.
I light a match in the dry wood. I look to the stars and then I let it fall. Burn it. Burn it all.
Sometimes nothing is better. Sometimes ashes and soot give you more. Underneath the soil is stewing, priming to someday grow again.
I will walk the barren land alone. There is strength in that.
I defy you to call me weak. It’s instinct not weakness; fight or flight.
I was born to fly.
Broken Bells – The High Road