He belongs to the world...

The heat finally left space for breathing and crisp air. The trees undressed and coloured the streets and I found myself changing with the season. I so badly wanted to be that force of nature, that fire no one can touch, but I was tired. Tired, tired, tired, of being me and if I had one inch of energy to be something beautiful, I would have, but all I could care about was to make it home before it got dark.

I always pictured it a grand thing, the moment I would take off. Someone waving long after I was out of sight and some tune playing soft from somewhere I couldn't see. I pictured it a clear line, some sort of sharp edge between before and after. But there is no such thing. You can take a U-turn where you're walking on the pavement but people are just on their own path, and now you're in their way. You keep walking against the tide and you think you're doing something great but really you're just pissing people off and when you finally get out on the open field where no directions exist, you find yourself lonely, not free, just a big, vast lonely world that surrounds you and you can go anywhere you please but suddenly you don't want to go anywhere at all. You just want to go home.