Fang; just guess what inspired this.

Freedom is one of those things you take for granted until you no longer have it. It's so close an so real, so perfect your whole being is encompassed with the desire to once more hold it in the palm of your hand. The force of it's pull draws you to it again and again and you reach your hands through the bars of obligation that bind you to the spot. Your reaching fingers cannot grasp it but if you stretch yourself to the limit you can even, for a few precious moments, touch it. It's scent and sound is intoxicating as your outstretched fingertips grace the cool smooth surface and the memories flood your person, of what it used to be like, to have it, to cherish it, to hold it close to you. These memories fill you with a deep and unhealed remorse of longing for it. You feel worse than if you had never touched it, never knowing what you were missing. Yet despite the pain, despite the anguish that is slowly eating away at your will to live any longer, you still reach, still stretch forth your hand, trying desperately to not only touch it, but to grasp hold of it, and pull it through the bars, these confines, on your time, your energy, your very life. You know the pain would be worth it. Somehow you know, with every fiber of your being, that if you could only reach it, the confines surrounding you would crumble to dust, unable to withstand the splendor and purest joy contained within your firmly clasped hand.