Unspoken pricks

Sometimes, it feels like everything is right, Life moving as it should, steady, light. Until a pin drops—silent, small, We brush it aside, ignore it all. But then it pricks, a fleeting sting, We turn away, dismiss the thing. Again, it pricks—deeper now, Harder to ignore, but still, somehow. The harder I try to place it back, The more it feels like free will lacks. Is love a bond wrapped up in rules? A careful dance of dos and don’ts? Must I give up the things I crave, To keep the peace, to just behave? But why should I? Why must it be? Can love exist and still free me? ~do_xa