The songs, you sing loud,
with full abandon—
as they were meant to be sung,
punctuated by cracks,
by yells,
by lovely imperfections.
You lunatic—
I call you so with love.
You laugh like one,
like no one’s watching
as though the world were empty.
And it makes me think—
The price of normal, unflawed,
socially apt lives—
lives spent wondering
to be, or not,
to love, or not—
was never worth paying.
by Anonymous