This four green walls are a jail. A jail where I find myself years later sinking back into the insecurities of my earlier years. Incarcerated by the rules of the house, I stare at the ceiling running through ways to make these next few weeks more bearable.
Melodramatic; it’s funny how a few months of complete freedom makes anything less seem unsuitable. I would compare such freedoms to the forbidden fruit, but the cliche of such a simile would just further induce the desire to roll my eyes.