Is a word. Understated. A word so sprawled across, it defies its very definitions. Winged with defiance it invites us, to realms we perceived to be off-limits.
Free. Like one of its many symbols, is a bird, overtaking the skies with its magnanimity and its shadow is equipped with solidarity, a mere dark heraldic shape, of hope.
But free. Freedom. Isn’t pure. It bathes in the waters of those who have inflicted without cause and reasoning, and those, especially those, who have inflicted. It’s a pain that knows no good, no evil – Its affliction blinds it of discernment. And in its moment of existence, all it identifies with is fire. Molten in veins, charred skin, and salt rubbed in wounds kind of fire.
Free. Is a release. A contamination which brews a preference to rather be burned than sustain off the poisonous swamp its planted in. It’s an…
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