What’s that sound?

Pitter patter on the bathroom floor.

Floating in the air on top of music notes and the smell of dinner cooking.

Swirling round and round like tire swings on hot days with lemonade waiting on the picnic table.

…shaking hands wrapped around the handle of a gun, pressed against your temple…

But then those hands slip so smoothly in to mine. So seamless, like it’s where they belong. When our fingertips touch it sends 10,000 volts through our fingerprints and make those butterflies that take up residence in my tummy go all crazy.

The price of blushing cheeks cause by sugary-sweet words is years of self-consciousness and self-loathing. It’s so easy to put the blame on the media driven society we-unfortunately-are forced to endure, it’s so easy to point the finger in every direction aside from at us.

The world builds the standards.

But…

It’s your choice to reside within them.

Break down the imaginary walls that surround your independence, confining you with imaginary handcuffs. Gagging your free will and free speech. Blindfolding our expression and creativity.

Break down your barriers.

And find your way back to those lemonade drenched days on tire swings and monkey bars.