Running Wild

There was an odd feeling deep in my bones tonight.  Like spring in autumn, a bounce in my step, a desire to run wild. 

I was on the bus home, cider in my veins, on my way to my family home, my childhood bedroom, my work.  To do work.

I almost rebelled.  This feeling pushed. 

In a moment, in a flash, I would have been off the bus, out to go dancing and socialising, rebelling as if I were still young.  I am still young (I am!) but, as the crowd reminded me as the bus pulled past, not that young.  It has been more than twelve years since I first went to that nightclub.  So long ago.

And yet this need still pulsed through me.  Why do I need to work?  Why can't I still run wild?  After all I do still live at home.  I am still a student.

Instead the bus drew me on, drew me home, to the life that is still in flux as I fail to grow up or live young.  The life in which I failed to decide who I want to be.

I run late, searching for things that cannot be found.  Like a white rabbit joining the hunt for snarks.