From a person imprisoned or sheltered within their mind arise pathologies not explored by those who take benevolent residence instead.
Where wild ones play. In a jungle of laughing and longing. Built over time on overgrown mossy ground. Filled with a soundtrack of cackles in the dark. Strange and unrecognizable to them. Though very much alone. Sounds to which they've kissed goodbye all night long. Until trees fall and flowers wilt. All noise fades. A cold, bare apartment called home. Never to see each other again. So it feels. Something she would call dramatic. To say the least. Sometimes the most better left unsaid.