It’s the aftermath. Aftermath of living unfettered, talking without the leash of etiquette on your tongue, walking unfashionable rather lurching and falling but being buoyant all the same. Aftermath of being fearless, of facing the wholehearted truth just the way your soul wants to.
But it’s the aftermath. When you faintly remember things you’ve done which you’d never do in right minds. ‘Right’ minds,huh. But I’ve realized among other things, I’m a scared bitch actually. That my shoe is too small for my foot. And when the bestial ugliness shows its varied colors at full moon, I run ‘me’. The aftermath hence wants me to be ashamed of myself. And I’m left to face chagrin on my own.
But how can I be ashamed of being undauntedly myself? Punish me as you will,albeit it’s still not a crime to me.