there is a place i remember strangely,
it was warm and dim, a low and soft glowing light all around.
i was alone.
no music i heard, though,
occasionally a low humming which vibrated through my limbs.
it was a good place, that which i would realize too late.
for whence they bore me out of that place,
i cried out in anger.
my flesh suddenly exposed to a cold, dry air.
my lungs inhaled the thin and intoxicating particles.
and the noise. black speech all around.
i wanted to cover my ears but my hands were so harshly manipulated in all directions
by slippery elastic claws.
and the light, how i hated that light which ripped through my eyes,
so bright and intensely white.
i cried and cried. i cried for my warm place.
but it had abandoned me, or rather i had.
it would wonder where i was.
but now i am long boned and wise in the stupid subjects of this world.
it was never mine.
i struggle to belong.
i often think of that glowing place now and then, which was my origin.
and i think if i could go back i wouldn't take it for granted.
i would wrap myself up in its warm, peaceful dimness,
hiding myself safely, stored away.
alone i was.