GRASSLIGHT
I’m coming down off the high of my travels. I sit in my parent's house in a mess heap, thinking of the seemingly perfect life I left behind. It has been months since I pulled the rip cord on stability to chase the greener grass of creative freedom. I’ve reached the other side now, but the green grass I’ve yearned for is actually mud. Was my old life built on mud too? If everything is mud, can I just feel content already?
