You owe Bolsheviks your freedom. For what it is worth.
So run, although owing something to someone means you should stop and pay your dues, stop running about and do what you’re to do for those who did something for you. We are indebted to the idealists.
It is a halting thought to be linked as if hanging on to those who you thought did not count or matter for whatever reason. The distance is so lengthy, the legacy is so smudged. Filthy Bolsheviks. Those hunted and despised having changed everything from the bottom up. It is a haunting thought that does not let go.
I wanted to be a poet. Now I am. Isn’t that freedom?