Genius of Freedom

A crumpled ball thrown into the flame — once a sheet of paper, smooth, clean, good to look at. On it, a man had laid out his thoughts. A thought as pure as a drop of dew, plain words that jar the mind. The brain breaks through any barrier. The heart has learned the bitterness of loss. Memory sways with recollection — good deeds or bad ones, it doesn't matter. He remembered the joys of years already lived, pulled out a pack of his favorite cigarettes. His joys, his sorrows, all have their reasons. Someone was born, someone got locked away… Out of a hundred people, he's the one — a moth! A torrent of restless life pounding through his veins. He loved walking roads that climbed toward the sky, staring into a friend's bright eyes. He loved to read deep in the night, alone with himself. He loved running through puddles in the rain. He loved to sing, even with no one listening. He never let anyone teach him a thing. And who's the judge here, anyway? The voice of his own mind spoke loudest. His will gave him no peace. Adrenaline, stronger than alcohol. Don't try to cage plain sense with rules — he's got his own code of laws inside his head. He needs no paradise, no exotic escape. No drug can replace a life like this. You cannot change a man's true nature! He's a moth — the goddamn genius of freedom!