One time you find yourself in a park, on a bench, looking into space, and for a second you forget which country you are in, whether it’s morning or evening; you are pierced by a pang of loneliness, your heart becomes light and sad.
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the sound of opening windows scared the birds and they flew away. if they were words turned into birds, trees were hands that learned to murmur. the distance loves those who fly. i would ink Sea, if i was afraid i will forget it. not everyone has to travel alone.