Wild
January (The Past)
Inhale the future, exhale the past.
I read that on a shirt somewhere in a gift shop at the beach. It was hanging above all these wooden signs that had white-girl wasted sayings on them. You know, the ramblings of a girl who's had her heart broken and gotten drunk on three glasses of wine. Those sayings always made me roll my eyes. I never believed any of them were true until this morning when I packed the saddlebags of my motorcycle to the brim, put on a backpack and started heading north up I-55. I'm not sure where I want to go, all I do know for sure is I wanna be anywhere but here. Mississippi has nothing and no one for me. The only things that matter are the bike between my legs, the memories in my brain, and the container of ashes that hold the only person
