Freedom

Freedom tastes like sourdough bread from the farmers market, still warm; an ice cold glass of moscato; feta cheese, grape tomatoes, and basil that was grown from your own garden...

Freedom smells like a cranberry chutney candle; freshly mown grass in the warm spring air, your own warm skin in the middle of the night...

Freedom feels like waking up slowly before the alarm; the first hot shower after a camping trip; crisp clean sheets after a long day...

Freedom sounds like a million peepers on a summer night; an amateur street guitarist; the cadence of saying "yes" whenever you want to; the air on your skin...

Regret

Regret tastes like foamy Guiness Stout; coffee on the hot plate too many hours; long expired milk.

Regret smells like plastic melting in a campfire; sweaty gym clothes forgotten in the trunk of a car; dogshit on your shoe.

Regret feels like accidentally brushing against stinging nettles; the stitch in your side from running too far, too hard; an invisible eyelash in your eye.

Regret looks like a forgotten sock, buried in dust bunnies, underneath the couch; a shopping cart full of toilet paper, coffee, wine, and lean cuisine; the star filled night sky - as endless as...regret.