Is it weird, that at night, the sky is a soft rainfall,
that I soak in its tears, lying on the driveway?
Is it weird that the grass is a soft blanket,
that I roll around in its feathers and wrap myself in the duvet?
Is it weird that the wind is a cooling breath,
that blows through my hair on a long evening walk?
Is it weird that the long grass is like a corn maze,
that I walk through it, running my hands through the stalks?
Is it weird that the things that people take for granted,
are the ones that I love most?
Is it weird that I’d rather be in the humble outdoors
than the indoors that seem to boast?
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