We walk through the park alone at night. We run marathons, waste countless hours on the trail, risk blistered feet and aching knees and sunburn and windburn and numbing cold. We stay up late to read or write even when we have to work in the morning. We stay up late to make love. We fail to pay our bills on time but always find money for at least one drink.
We are the dreamers, the wanderers, the lovers and pacifists and poets and artists. We are crazy cat ladies, street corner singers, solitary and full of love. We’ll take any excuse to wear glitter. We like parades and parties and dancing in the rain.
You call us freaks with your Bibles raised in the air, call us failures from the tinted windows of your SUVs. You call us fools, but we know better. Our wisdom is this: that happiness is a virtue and the real fools are those who fail to live life fully.