Boys don’t cry. They lament till their drops of saline wash fill the oceans. They don’t need saving. They stumble around tongue tied till they are fully awake. Playful wisemen. From hell to wilderness.
I am perpetually drawn to wilderness. Not just the one that we traditionally associate with untouched nature. Any kind of wilderness. Of human spirit. Of destruction. Of creation. Of solitude. Of chaos. Of noise. Of nothingness. Uncharted and unpredictable. Wilderness.
I dream of touching the sky. My hand reaches up and never stops growing. Past the moon. Brushes against the planets. Runs by the comets. Touches the starts. Thousands. Millions. My eyes long gone yet I can feel the magic born out of the ocean, the magic of life, the magic that is wilderness.
Slowly I wade into the temporarily merciful sea. Millions of organism gazing at me. Cheers and woohoos. As I become undone. Unidentified. I. Am.