I find myself dancing between the realities of what is, what was, and what others want it to be. I love the randomness that’s normal to me, the stares of those afraid to dance at a red light and the smiles from kids who understand. The obliviousness that comes with being in the moment; even more the peace it brings. The keen sense of I don’t care, but look, clouds; it’s a poodle… I yearn for the welling of tears I fight back as I get lost in the simplicity of time. The reflection that reminds me of my youth sobered by the caption of my age, then ignored because it’s bullshit. I perceive myself as free, though I’m enslaved by responsibility--forced to tow the line; but who says the line can’t be a party? I love the duality I am, and the paradox of those who love me; I perceive therefore I am—free, but not, young, but not, mature, but not…trapped.