He held himself with grace that made it seem like the entire world was his entitlement. He walked with such certainty, taking deliberate steps. Tilting his head to one side as he did things, making it seem that it was so easy to live; that it was so easy to be him.

He spoke in a tone that made me want to fall apart. To stand there, stripped of all my walls and facades– strength, independence, success – he spoke and I wanted to be little. He spoke, and I wanted to be small, I wanted to be comfortable in the small space I occupy, in my mumbles and incoherent thoughts. He spoke and I wanted to cry, not minding the whole world watching. He spoke and the world stopped whatever it was keeping itself busy with, its false sense of grandeur, until he was done vocalizing a carefully processed thought.

All done in but a moment, but to me, the world really does stop.

My false sense of control, of knowledge, of having it all figured out. All it takes is one word. I want to touch his skin, and maybe in doing that, I will understand. I own nothing but my senses. I won nothing but the awareness of my true self in his presence. For the first time, I don’t feel like I want to own that person, to control that person, and it’s not because I know of my inability to do so. I don’t want to.

Free spirits are in fact not free; they are confined by their own thirst for freedom. They strive for it, fight for it… the very thought of being stripped of it utterly frightens them. Fear eats away at your poise, and who am I to do that?

Who are you to expect things of such a being– enlightened, illuminated.  Who are you to limit such an existence?