Chanter, canter.

The nights are long, the darkness envelops the light mercilessly. We’re almost over the hill now but I’m leaving.

Back to Scotland.

I try to listen to my heart, my mind tells me I’m trying too hard… and I laugh.

I’d rather die on my feet. Surviving. Isolating.

Working backwards is moving forwards.

She stirs in her sleep, wrapping her legs on top of mine, trapping them under their warm cosy clutch.

I resist the urge to be free, what has happened to me? When did I morph?

I want to be a bird. Or a fish, with lots of bright colours, poisonous but beautiful.

Somewhere else and I’m the same old me, with more money and a future.

I want to be a dog, hers to pet. I don’t feel like growing old though. So I’m going to just be me.

Wild and free, like horses without a stable. Reigned by the weather, weathered by the rain.

I don’t swear as much anymore. If I’m going to swear I should swear on my life that I will keep my word. So I vow to be silent for a while.

To just listen to the birds and the fish and the horses.

My leg starts to go numb. Buzzing like an old Nokia on vibrate. Call me.

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