When the wind whispers, I have a conversation.
When the rain pours I feel at home,
Within, and also beside myself my best comfort comes from isolation.
Into the crowds I'm alone, throughout the noise I hear nothing, the sounds are deafened underneath my own thoughts.
Rather talk to the birds in the morning, and the crickets in the evening, to watch a tree slow dance beneath the clouds, to watch the sun recede and back away out of this dark world.
No longer flee from the flood of thoughts that come, but talk sense to them, take heed to their validity and say goodnight, with promises of another day and conversations for another night.
Home is within, and everything outward is to come and go.