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If I grow up and choose to be homeless, I’d still find home.

If I grow up and build cubes, I’d still live dome.

I’d walk the world every morning. Travel the grounds prohibited by the leaders of houses afraid of darkness and dripping.

At night, I’d roam the streets and watch people eat and hold hands and steal and rape. Then stare at the starry night sky and reassure the moon I’m still in love with him more than the sun. I get to dance in the rain when people scurry under umbrellas and hide in houses. Maybe I’d sleep over in libraries among the silently watching books and let them sing me to sleep rather than anxious mothers or tired husbands.

Waking up to the sound of bustling streets might be a problem unless I sleep in forests where I rise to the sound of green songs and fluttering or dancing water rushing.

No alarm clocks or crying children. No walls and hallways. No doors.

A life of allegiance only to the fruits of this earth and of love only to the universe.

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