It's all stuck together wrong and the pieces don't fit like they should. The bits are all mixed up. They don't know where they belong any more. It's all muddled. They meddled. There's always meddling. Shouldn't meddle, but they do. Can't leave well enough and it all turns to dust and ash. They can't know. Picking and picking. Tearing at the threads until it all comes apart. Just apple bits left.
I miss the sky. There's too much sound and the air tastes funny and it's all wrong. The ground feels wrong. It's too steady but everything's shifting. It makes my head hurt. I need to be in the black. It's too solid here. Loud where it should be quiet and quiet where it should be loud. This is why you aren't supposed to meddle with things. All of it's wrong. I'm trying to work it out, but the equation doesn't work. Too many variables. It hurts my head to think about it.
Not safe. It's not safe to wander off alone, he says. But how can you wander when there's no one to wander from? Logical fallacies and paradoxes. Wandered because he isn't here, but can't wander because there isn't anyone to wander from. I'd follow the breadcrumbs back but there aren't any. The birds ate them all. They'll get stomachaches.