At times the yearning for uninterrupted seclusion steers one’s spirits to take them to the most desolated place that could ever be found, for one to let the lonesome air seep through one’s thick disguised skin and appease one mystically.
Sometimes there’s nothing that soothes one better than being embraced by the still air, the thought of being eyed by none but Him, free of care and obligations, knowing none would be able to track him, driving on the track that seems to have no end, through the solitariness of the atmosphere inhabiting one, the illusionary thought of being the master of one’s own senses and self for those moments. Talking to oneself, Him, aloud about everything, fanatically so that there lies no chance of being not heard or misheard, letting one's jar of joy and sorrow spill and feeling lighter than a feather afterwards. How could one not long for that once in a while?