I feel nostalgia for a place I've seen briefly and a life I've never lived.
It must be damn painful in that mind, but so intriguing for one outside.
In my world, it's time to finish a paper, get this knee to stop cracking, and wander for a meal eventually.
How...anti-climatic.
I sometimes wish your stories -- selections of them -- were mine. But each to his fate. I may live vicariously through others, but I may be able to translate those words into Spanish.
Hm.
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