It comes to me sometimes at dusk
In startling clarity
Shaken from seat
Or grabbed by my neck
Set on my feet
It is almost night and it is time
I know it is
If I wait one second it could be too late
It could be morning
It could be the moment has passed me by
I know then how quickly my youth might leave me behind
How precious the days are—
The old, the young and the leaving
I know how I need to run
Like a dog let loose in a wide open field
For the pure pleasure of it
I know how it feels to want to set off
Into the night
Into the woods
Into a party where no one knows your name
Is this a book?
Who said it couldn't be?
Is this not a story?
Are we not all?
Are we not free to be free
To remember what it feels like
To be
I remember, like a nightmare from your childhood
Stepped out of the dark right in front of your face
The buzz of an adrenaline pumping in your veins
A thrill of terror, of potential you thought you'd outgrown
How easy it is to romanticize a life out here
The still dusk, full of creatures and hope and fear
The scent of the smoke still clinging to your hair
The scent of hay fresh and boozy on the air
What could be more urgent?
The world waits
To be cut open with a knife
— olivia gwyn
