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It's good to find yourself and your pack again. To pour the truth into your eyes and be really here and now. Both head and body immersed in the present. Together.
I bathed my soul in cinnamon tea. Cigarette smoke. I was gently fanned by the salty breeze on the shore of something. The horizon stretched in the distance. I now sit on it like a horse and drink the memory. No photos remained, only places, breeze and stones. The feeling of my old body that will be forever young. I water my soul with cinnamon tea.
