I miss the sound,
of being alone.
The crisp
rustling of leaves
as they fall from grace.
The rush of water
flowing in the river
down to the falls.
The choir of birds
sitting in a tree
humming melodies
echoing in the air.
The thoughts inside my head
whirling freely alone,
rapid and wild
without the voices
telling it where to go.
I miss the sound
of being
alone.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 4:08 AM UTC
I miss the sound,
of being alone.
The crisp
rustling of leaves
as they fall from grace.
The rush of water
flowing in the river
down to the falls.
The choir of birds
sitting in a tree
humming melodies
echoing in the air.
The thoughts inside my head
whirling freely alone,
rapid and wild
without the voices
telling it where to go.
I miss the sound
of being
alone.
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