Breathe.
I’m trying to relax.
Trying.
But somehow,
Indoor silence just isn’t quite the same
And indoor air is old and stressed and stale
And somehow melancholy.
But why? Life is good;
I have so much.
Have done so much.
But here it is not enough
Never enough.
Only out there, in that world of
Trees and grass and cloud-strewn sky
Can I be free.
There, I am always enough
Just as I am.
And it is that silence which I long for,
Not this still, dead air
To furnace stress-paced life.
I need the other air
The clean air,
That loves me and all that I am
Or am not.
Yes, I need that air.
Then, I can
Breathe.
 



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