Writing

It’s Not A Revolution

India is responsible for the blade in my mouth. This country has bathed me in boiling hot water that has left my skin with second-degree burns and regardless, I know that lukewarm is no longer any good. I’ve lost my mind in India time and again but I should be thanking her. There’s something about this experience that is laced. You get the feeling that you’re onto something and getting on a plane as we follow the supply can begin to feel obligational. The supply is scattered around the globe and to those who want you by their side, its illegal. Sorry Mom, if you’re reading this you should know I’m about to be arrested. I’m hooked, I’m running with knives in my hands and the wolves by my side. Man on a mission, girl on the run—whatever. Someone called it a phase, someone called it crazy and someone called it brave.

There’s no telling where I will be in one year, that’s the thrill. There’s no use in busting my ass or creating a dilemma around what my next step is. My next step is, do whatever I want. It’s not rebellion, it’s not a revolution. Pay attention to where your mind wanders, that’s how the story starts. You have to start somewhere, someone has to make that first move and if it’s not you, if it’s not me, all that’s left is to sit back and watch what could’ve been. You’ve heard this before, I know this, we know this. We know the risk of putting the blade in our mouth but we also know what life’s like without it, when lukewarm is no good.

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