"Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell,' Holly advised him. 'That was Doc's mistake. He was always lugging home wild things. A hawk with a hurt wing. One time it was a full-grown bobcat with a broken leg. But you can't give your heart to a wild thing: the more you do, the stronger they get. Until they're strong enough to run into the woods. Or fly into a tree. Then a taller tree. Then the sky. That's how you'll end up, Mr. Bell. If you let yourself love a wild thing. You'll end up looking at the sky."
— Truman Capote (Breakfast at Tiffany's: A Short Novel and Three Stories)
i love wild things.
i cant give my heart. i can only open my heart to let the wild in. and keep it open so that the wild thing is free. is free to leave. and free to come in. if it gives no damage inside; if it gives damage then the door will be closed next time. or the third time. i always give a second chance. but not a third. and yet there is no rule to matters of the heart. "the heart has reasons that reason cannot tell..."
when the wild thing leaves, the heart still remains. there is the emptiness left. an emptiness filled with enrichment. an enrichment that the wild thing introduced to the heart. and the heart that has introduced its own wild side to the wild thing.
i used to give my heart or try to keep wild things stay in my heart. that only brought a wrong feeling of possession. destruction. if u trap a wild thing, it will destroy your heart until it breaks it apart to flee.
love is a feeling just too far away from posession. it is an openness of the heart.
an openness. something closer to freedom.
and easier said than done, of course. i am practicing, indeed. we are, all.
The Troggs - Wild Thing
