A tiny ode to the fetters of obligation — shorn.

Oh to be justified in detachment, meanness. There’s freedom in it, but it tastes bitter anyway, like the freedom of growing up and no longer being carried by strong arms.

I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt; for a long time, I was successful. We’ve been rushing toward this inevitability at a snail’s pace — primarily because I can’t stop turning around and running away.

But it didn’t matter how far I ran or how strong I became. Inevitable catches up with you eventually.

And then you know.

All at once and after so much unconscious contemplation.

They do not love you. They do not want to do what is right.

You were wrong.

Once again, the world is proven ugly and human.

Strangely, it makes you feel good, knowing the feeling was mutual — twin planets stuck in the sun’s pull, desperately trying to break free of gravity.

In that moment, when you see your own guilt and pity in the light of betrayal, you are free.

Gravity cannot hold you to the negativity any longer. Obligation’s weight is shorn like matted fur, a solid mass in a heap before you.


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