post grad. 

Bug bites on my shins and I’m still the same messy kid even at almost 30. 

We were running around in patchy grass with our feet bare and smiles as wide as the horizon.

Dropping onto a bench, I looked down at myself

Grass stains, dirty elbows, a hole in my shirt sleeve and I had never been happier. 

We wanted nothing, had everything we needed, left a note addressed to our superiors who had no hold over us anymore. 

“To Whom It May Concern,” we had scrawled in crayon, 

“We’ve boarded the last train out of here and have found purpose not in the mundane tasks you give us with very little direction. 

So we’re taking matters into our own hands. Consider this our Declaration of Independence 

From the hierarchy of things and how we saw the world from a different point of view 

In all its color and brilliance.” 

We signed it with stickers. 

We never looked back at the life we did not wish to have. 


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