Freedom is a daydream, momentarily escaping into a world free of rules and boundaries, possibly self. Having everything you ever wanted, if only for a moment.
Freedom is crossing the border into Mexico, putting miles between you and your . . .life?
Freedom is a shot of tequila, a glass of whiskey, the way it burns down your throat, warming you from the inside out.
Freedom is a drug induced haze, floating so high you can almost taste the stars.
Freedom is playing halo with a friend, trash talking, keeping it superficial.
Freedom is losing yourself in her arms, between her legs, and being able to walk away guilt free.
Freedom is caller I-D, not having empty conversations about the weather, the latest store openings, or the new slasher pic she'll be filming in Cancun.
Freedom is bone breaking beneath your fist, beneath his. Damn the consequences.
Freedom is a biting remark and the hope that it makes her feel as bad as you do.
Freedom is walking away, trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t matter that she is no longer yours, that she never really was.
Freedom is fire, the lies, betrayal, drinking, adultery, denial, and abuse going up in smoke.
Freedom is unmarred skin, not flinching when you see him. No worrying, wondering every time you walk into a room.
Freedom is accepting she is gone, that she won’t be there to make things better in her own drunken way.
Freedom is getting drunk and visiting her grave, saying all the things you’d wished you’d said before your father killed her, saying all the things you wish you could say now.
Freedom is convincing yourself that you don’t feel the vice around your heart getting tighter and tighter with each betrayal and every stupid thing you do.
Freedom is shutting down, not caring one way or the other. Existing, simply because you’re too afraid not to.
Freedom is emotionless, numb.
Freedom is numb.