Fried Eagle Wings

– And seriously, the freedom screams: to think beyond just here or me or working for another week. You know I still have awful dreams but now they’re more annoying than upsetting and at the end of each I find I’m getting closer to forgetting all the subtle little nuances that used to make me pause – oh I’ve killed so many minutes going back for things forgot that I’ve missed many more in front of me (the ones that do intrigue). And when I was a landless prince, the cut-rides of the county lay before me gold and gleaming and I knew when you were dreaming like the grass knows when the dew falls, or a love knows when to call and say they’re sorry, they won’t make it; not tonight.

Freedom screams. The eagles’ wings are infested with mites.


~ by perfectionatrix on August 27, 2014.

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