Second Guessing My Freedoms.

Once in a while I’ll have one of those moments that hang in the air, where someone asks you one of the more important questions, and the gravity is sucked of the room, making your thoughts go into free fall. More often than not, I’ll trip over my words or I’ll be unable to find them, and by then the moment will have passed. And other times I’ll really want to say something, but I find myself prohibited to do so by social stigma, embarrassment, what have you. 

Which is of course rather frustrating. 

I think it would be much easier if people just went around with small chalkboards tied to their wrists. Whenever they’d feel an urge to say something they didn’t know how to express out loud, they’d write it down, and whatever they wrote would be free of laws, rules, finger-pointing.

You could write things that belonged at midnight goth poetry readings, and no one would be able to laugh and call you emo or corny.

Or things that others obviously wouldn’t understand.

Or bumbling simple sentiments you feared people would laugh at.

Or your faith (or lack thereof), without retributions.

It would all be delightfully simple.

If it were really like that, I’d take my chalkboard everywhere, and my pockets would be full of white, stubbly chalk, leaving stains that wouldn’t ever come out. But I wouldn’t care at all.

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