Head in the clouds

Inside

Something about a squeaking door always makes me feel at home. And yeah, maybe I have been spending too much time alone.

But these walls have been a friend and if they could talk, they'd know the secrets I keep, things I store tightly behind a lock.

This window may have a brick view but there's sun enough to grow my plants, besides, the world out there is cold, nothing but a game of chance.

So that warm, dusty light in here will be good enough for me too. A squeaky door that shields me from the world is enough to see me though.