Walking through freshly spilled horse piss trying to reach the door of the station, I remembered I had once written about horses.
The feeling of the wind blowing through my hair waving it like a flag, the sensation of muscles strong, the word-less expressions that speak volumes. I love horses and riding horses.
However, I wrote once that like a wild horse that runs, I will always return.
The truth is I was being followed.
Everyone I went. Unlike some people I actually protect those I care about, so we’ll call him Steve. Nearly every single day I saw Steve.
For reasons I won’t disclose – let’s just say Facebook fucked me – I chose to recognize Steve, but not acknowledge him.
Simply put, I wrote I would return because I wanted to understand and be understood.
That no longer applies anymore, in fact it never did if truth be told.
I could give two flying fuck’s in the wind anymore. I won’t and can’t pretend anymore.
The saying goes – You can never return Home again. Truth.
When I left to get the fuck away from this neighborhood, I was told to go.
Had I been able to leave prepared, I would never have returned wanting to kill myself every single day.
The accident would not have happened.
I would be so much fuller instead of drained of all creativity, desire, passion, and my beautiful outlook on life.
To have someone take your writing, pervert and bastardize it is a terrible injustice to me.