Being fugacious.

I love words. All kinds of words. “Fugacious” however feels different to me, but yet again so familiar. “Fugacious” means “fleeting” or maybe even being a fugitive; a runaway, trying to escape injustice or terror.

I need to escape, every now and then, just to sink my teeth into “a festival of ‘MOI.” (ME in French. Thank you Ms O’Neill.)

But I also remember very well how I was forced, or forced myself to let the “MOI” be fugacious. I had to run away from situations, people and myself. I hid myself; not my body, but myself. People have opinions, we all know we have opinions. And to those who say that they don’t have an opinion….well that’s an opinion right there.

In life we enter and exit. From birth to death, and between those two we enter and exit, every second, minute, hour,day, week, year…. Thoughts enter and exit, and so do people, situations, lovers, pets. We enter or exit with dignity, pride, in silence, almost invisibly, or perhaps in shame.

I entered this world with a scream, and will do my utmost to exit with dignity, pride and with a boom.

But not yet; my work here isn’t done yet.

And I shall leave in a rainbow balloon…with all my friends present.