There’s a barely controlled abandon, and more than a hint of anxiety that once the act of inscription has begun, it can’t be undone. The scars were there, along with the stench of betrayal. In the silence of the road, I could pretend to fly, to get away from this demanding world. My scarlet heart bleeds, with lament in verse. But as I looked around me on this golden hour, with the clear sky, the refreshing breeze, birds flying in the air, I knew there’s still hope. I should put my shoes on and start treading again. I should play the game of life and have fun again. Nothing could hold me back.