I am bound by the shackles of rationale and reason. They wear at my ankles and wrists. I pick at the itching scabs. I know you had the key once, but you lost it in a struggle against your own heart. Now, you’re sprinting towards me at full speed, lock pick in hand. Face red, you fumble it with your hands, like a child’s. You’re half-sobbing, half-chuckling and biting my ear. The shackles come off. Then, I lose myself in you and never find my way out.