I don’t know if that’s ‘Free’, to me,

 
 
For some, a sense of being Free

is that of roaming in the open air carelessly,

aimlessly, because-it-doesn’t-matterly

 
Of running on bare feet, across a white sandy beach,

against the softly-blowing wind

 
Of leaping off a cliff, thirty-feet above the sea,

diving into blue ocean cool that washes off tropical heat..

 
… that must be Free

 
 
Maybe.

 
 
I don’t know if that’s Free,

to me,

or a temporary release from a metropolist routine

 
If that’s Free,

to me,

or mere pumping adrenaline, rushing dopamine, from a kind of life not often lived

 
Like paragliding, wild-berry picking, star-gazing,

dragonfly-catching, being okay with dying

 
 
Funnily, to me, what I know about Free,

surely,

I find behind pink-painted walls that were meant to be peach

 
 
Where a flat sponge cake from egg whites half-beat is still served on royal tiers

Where coffee is best half-warm because somebody has let the boiled water cool chatting

 
Because every corner of a room is an ingredient for a good talk recipe

For the best potpourri of honest silences, peaceful disagrees and harmless mockeries

 

You see, to let imperfections be seen, to remain guarded as beauty is,

to me,

Free

 
Where hearts are laid down carefully,

the broken, the healing, the failed-to-be-concealed

 
Where faith, or not, in God is not left out of grace-saying

even when served half-chilled

 
And nobody cares if the glass is half full or empty

as much as that someone’s INTJ, ENFP, ESFJ, ISTP, INTP, INFP or XXXP

Because having strong opinions is not nearly as important as holding up a firm identity

 

To know who one is, to be recognized for that is,

to me,

Free

 
Imagine where heads and feet lazily meet

on a hand-me-down embroidered couch covered with worn-out sheets

Full of dry stains of spilled wine from bouncing over someone’s new promise ring

or raging over another’s news of disloyalty

Atop cushions that are warmly dented from accommodating tear-drying,

light hand-touching, impromptu counseling over ice cream

 

Now the right to feel completely, the right to truly be is,

to me,

Free

 
 
Behind pink-painted walls that are decorated every section differently to honor diversity

That preserve smudges from pushed out chairs making space for those inside joke assemblies

That echo our distinct sounds of laughter and merge them into a timeless symphony,

Are eyes that see only the perfect shade of peach

Are live portraits of being just as we should be

 

You see, to love unconditionally, to be loved without boundaries is,

simply,

Free

 
 

 
 
Tya

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