Spike bolted down an alleyway having narrowly escaped being smashed into a bloody pulp by a demon he’d been tussling with and he leaned heavily against he brick and sparked the tip of a cigarette, trying to scrounge up a game plan.
Where do I belong? Where do I fit? Who are my people? Where do my loyalties lie? We all choose out tribe. It’s that need to belong, to live within boundaries, cos it’s scary out there, on the fringes. Some labels are forced on us. They mark us, set us apart until we’re like ghosts, drifting through other people’s lives. But only if we let the labels hold. You can piss your whole life away trying out who you might be. It’s when you’ve worked out who you are that you can really start to live.