xandrei

Home. A place full of warmth, of security. Somewhere he knew he could always go if he needed to withdraw and  think. Or even just a place to relax. No worry of scrutiny from outside eyes. When he was young, he'd always run back home, back to his mother, where nothing could possibly touch him and shh, everything would be alright. However, it was strange how quickly the feeling of a word can change in one's mind, on one's tongue. It now felt dusty, like the thick layer of gray that had settled over his belongings (a now past life). Sheets were strewn over the furniture like ghosts of a place that once mattered more than anything. The walls fe