i'm yearning to fall into a space. a space where the only things that make sense are the songs sung by birds, the noises strewn about from leaves. A place that isn't the roof I sleep under, or the desk I sit at. Sometimes it lies behind my eyelids. sometimes I find it sitting in my car with the tears falling. a place where the wind is playing with my hair, and my hand is being held. i'm pining for the pines. a hole that might swallow me up and spit me into that fresh spruce smell. The rain in the pines aroma. The crystal of snow on the tips of their cones. i feel wedged between seemingly polar opposite wants/worlds. Maybe it's a millennial thing, but is that bad? to yearn to fly... to cover the plains, forests, deserts of the world. the consistent restlessness sitting on your shoulders, your blades pushing them back, and towards the sky. but what about this "home" people talk about. The thing everyone goes back to, where it seems the hardest memories lie. The...
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