Inside, Still.
When you miss everything.

Is there an honesty here, buried deep beneath the earth that slips through my fingers, soft like silk, warm like sitting in the light of the sun between gaps in the leaves, under my favorite old oak tree?
What is it that you instill in me, a need to run, to sprint, to seek- life within the woods, or beyond the sea anywhere but between these white painted walls surrounding me.
~~Feathertales~~
