Dearest Maria,
It had to end I guess.
Your situation was something unfortunate.
Water on the jagged surface of a hollow vase.
Drip by drip it went I guess.
Every drip a deafening sound.
Enough to wake you from a slumber.
But wake up you must and did.
A race horse is born to run , is bred to run , lives to run.
It can't be satisfied just grazing on the mountain plains.
It needs to run, the wind lashing against it.
The adrenaline that pumps through its body.
It can't be tamed to be some sort of a farm animal. Can it?
May be you are a race horse. May be you have to run. How far though?
Until when? Won't you miss the hay ? Won't you miss the farm.
Don't you want stability or is the wilderness your routine?
The question is won't you tire of the wilderness?
You cover massive distances with each sprint.
You leap ahead of all the others at lightning speed
Why do you move on so fast?
Is it because you can? or are you just afraid to stay still?
Do you stop and see?
Do you understand me?
Will you burn yourself out?
Will you lose and pout?
What is your normalcy ?
Is it an uncontrolled anarchy?
Do you wish to be tamed?
So many questions.
So many possible answers.
If I could define you in one word, it would be 'Possibility'
This word would sum you up.
You are clay.
You shape yourself into whatever you would like to be.
You are uneven, yet formed.
You are a substance that adapts according to matter.
You are a fiery flame, flickering in the wind.
You are vibration.
Maria...
The world will make sense someday and someday you will be still.
