I serve no master, not even death. My life is for me and its culmination is not his gift. I will not fill my days with trite adages of love and loss. I will not center the longevity of my life around the finality of its fate. While I am here, I am tethered only to gravity, carried only by my two feet. No simple demons could hope to submit me. I offer myself willingly to all that is worthy, but I hold true to my choice, and to my right to choose.
I carry no weight that is not my own. I will not hold your baggage, I will not chain myself to your grief. I have seen much too much of the forces of this world that would subdue me with their false handlings. I’ve encountered too many a being who believed they were owed my gifts. To them I part most faithfully. Despite their protestations and their accusations, all involved understand what transpired. I serve no master, not even the heart.
I follow no compass. Where I intend to go, none have ever mapped. It’s not an ego driven journey. It’s simply mine alone to travel. Everyone finds their mountain face that none before were equipped to climb. And so I will decline the guidance of others, not out of pride or foolishness, but merely with the understanding that your good will would only serve to confuse me. I’ll find myself walking in circles under a piercing sun, a mirror image of the buzzards that coil above. I’ll never find what you’ve sent me after, because I serve no master, not even the hydra-like truth.
Perhaps I’ve doomed myself to a lonely fate. The good fortune of the unattached. But I’d like to think that I’ve made room on my journey for those who would willingly walk it with me. I require very little, but that doesn’t opt me out of appreciation for what I’m granted. Because I serve no master, not even myself.