Go outside.
Because outside is where the beasts lay.
They'll run with you all the way,
In such a sprint that you never tire
Or lose your breath
Or shiver your legs
At all.

Outside is where the sharp angles rest.
Deep cuts in straight lines, red blood dripping like rain,
And stones that have been cracking for centuries but never broken.

The great outdoors, that's where the fairies live.
They'll love you like you never knew love before.
It's the raw lips that kiss the roughest,
The calloused hands that hold on the tightest.
The rock-kissed fingers, they're designed to never let go.

Soft lips bruise. Mountainous lips live on forever.

Supple skin burns. Hard-cut edges light the flame in the sunrise.

Well-rounded means spoiled. Raw spirits mean earning the spoils.