Freedom to come

‘When did things first go awry? When did the mist descend and freedom slip between my fingers? Was it when you turned up, when I started talking to you? Was it you, did you replace my freedom, are you my freedom to come? If not, what freedom is this that’s always on the other side? I dreamed of a dying life or living death, like a healthy open wound. The freedom of a desert or of an abyss, the source and death of all echoes, that’s how I imagined it. Or as an endless sea that gives birth to and drowns all life.’

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