The stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own.

Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests of our lives.

Who knows what will happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.

And I do not want anymore to be useful, to be docile, to lead / children out of the fields into the text / of civility, to teach them that they are (they are not) better than the grass.

In college, you learn how to learn. Four years is not too much time to spend at that.

Don't we all die someday and someday comes all too soon? What will you do with your own wild, glorious chance at this thing we call life.

Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life? Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath? Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden, and softly, and exclaiming of their dearness, fill your arms with the white and pink flowers, with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling, their eagerness to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are nothing, forever?