I am a wild thing.

I always knew, running through the acres on my grandparents' land. I am a thing that cannot be contained.

I am staccato rain and thunder and lightning, the stillness before the bottom drops out, the changing sound of winds.
I wanted for so long to be transformed from chaos into a beautiful song, to get stuck in your head, leisurely; something calm and measured, a waltz maybe. Defined and easy to carry and part of a normal day. But I am a wild thing and measured steps are not for me.

I can adapt, as wild things must learn. I can take the shape of any space--for a little while, until I learn how to escape, until I learn the weaknesses that will let me come and go as I please. Flow like water. But water creeps and destroys as much as it nurtures and is still in pools beneath peaceful trees.

I never feel more safe than when I am let go. I never love someone quite so much as when they can see me run and soar without fear, unless it's when they tell me they'll be waiting for me, even if they don't have wild hearts that need to go, need to run, need to be free. They are those to whom I will always come home.

I am a wild thing. I can be owned. I can be claimed. But my heart will always be free.