Feral

I think that sometimes I wish I were more like a wild animal. More dangerous and unpredictable. Trusted and appreciated but only from a distance.

Sometimes I also wish that this city and the mountain that sits on top of it were an island. That I could just climb to the top every so often and roll down to the shore ignoring everyone I passed as they waved and said hi.

If it were an island I could live on a boat. I could set off into the ocean whenever I liked. I could drag it up on the shore, lean it against a hill and grow old as the trees and moss an dirt overtook it.

Children would avoid me and my boat house. As I got older rumors and mysteries would spring up like mushrooms and ferns, wilting away as fast as they grew.

I would be like a wild animal then.

I also wish this city were swarming and expansive. A glittering scab of black tar spilling across the nation’s middle. An infinite and growing mob of tiny parts that were born and died in the shimmering-dull towers, streets, and expressways. I would find a thin scratch and wedge myself in it silently joining the billions strong competition to quietly subsist on glass and tar. I could slink day-to-day stealthily a murderer unseen.

I wold be like a wild animal then.

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