They tell me that living is like this: bills, three square meals a day, a hobby, and more bills. Sleeping in a bed with someone every night for 50+ years. Never dreaming too big.
There is a beast in me that hungers for more, more meaning, more depth, more ocean. Something colorful and loud.
They tell me that living is like this: going on proper dates with proper people, waiting to say I love you, waiting to feel.
Give me the most violent love I can take. Give me God’s angry fire. I can’t survive on air. The words I never said will strangle me in my sleep. I refuse to die in such a quiet way.
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