You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are?
You’re a chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say,
“Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.”

You call yourself a free spirit, a “wild thing”, and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage.
Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself.
And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go.
Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.