When someone asks you Do you have any heros? And you are about to say No. Because you don’t. You never have. And you’ve never gone deep on that point. But the truth is you haven’t been an easy person to understand, by your own self, let alone by others. You think no one could know your crazy heart, not because it’s complicated, just the opposite, in fact. A little anachronistic for sure. You don’t want anyone in that space. A hero? Maybe some runner ups. Faces of free spirits float in and out of your mind. People who would know why you can’t just belong to someone, something….when you belong to everything else. It would have to be someone you would like to meet, sync with, save from being gone too soon…someone you would be proud being and being with. Then it hits you. And you’d never even thought of it before that moment.
Gypsy steal my heart.
Sing my soul, hippie queen.
Lose the shoes; live your blues.
And why not, Mama?
Why not. ♡
“…and I’ll be yours, until the rivers all run dry. Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme. In other words…”
—Image: “Mama” Cass Elliott, ca. 1960s