When did setting free ever equate to happiness?
Are relationships built like prison cells?
Are halves meant to squeeze us like a dove?
If anything, what could make me happy is keeping me.
Every treasure is kept.
Every promise is kept.
Every perfect stranger is for keeps.
Every quiet is kept.
Every up is kept.
Every sake is kept.
If we find joy in each of these, then how can we be less happy being kept and more being set free?
No comments:
Post a Comment