I couldn’t care less how much money a person has, or what their job title is. Show me a person who seeks out the beauty in a wreckage; who’ll take the remnants of their troubles and stitch a sail from the tatters.
Experience has taught me to tell the difference between a man that wants to tame me, mute my voice and claim me, and a man that is bold enough to let me be free.
I was told I could break free if I wanted to. That my wings would mend with time. But how can I mend a part of me that was never built to weather a storm?
What’s the end game? Well, when hate is your agenda, and my own is but love, then this game is not one in which you feature, and my end, is a far-flung world from yours.
