It has been said that most of us, in fact, are wild. There’s a part of us that still sits unmined. There’s a piece of our soul that still commands stardust, is still locked in the heavens, that part of us that has been described as fire. As hurricanes. Warm and disastrous. We have both the power to weave and the power to unravel.
Look for yourself in window reflections and broken glass, when you crawl through the cities and scratch your nails against cobblestones. Hunger to know yourself inwardly and outwardly. Rise like a phoenix and sprout wings of fire. Rage against the moon, and see the world through eyes of rose and topaz.