Member-only story
A poem/story that tries to answer the question
I live to be free and to write. My mind may wander off into a place I can’t remember a moment later. My heart may beat so fast at the sight of her. My legs may feel the steps I’ve taken throughout the day. Still, I must find a way to excuse the pain I feel within my soul.
So, once again I pick myself up, pack my large bag, the one that holds all my godly possessions, and off I go. Where at this moment doesn’t matter. Just escape. Just get out and find a place where my life can have some peace again. Like the last time I moved here.
Jackson Montana seemed like the right place to stop. Quiet, cold. Not sure I like the cold, this cold anyway. Though it had an emptiness about it that made me feel comfortable, almost surreal.
The little room in Mrs. Gold’s home was comfortable. So clean and neat. I had to keep the bathroom tidy for others who may use it. I loved the whole idea of the place. Mrs. Gold was nice enough to cook me a meal now and then. Nothing like a home-cooked meal. Fresh and tasty. You can tell a person by the way they cook, the style, and the smells in the house are even so very different.
After I settled in for a day or so. It never took me long to get used to a new place. That must be why I stopped and wanted to stay there. The green made me…
