Maybe it's time. Time to realize that I am fast in tyding up. As soon as I feel comfortable somewhere, I leave the comfort to lament the harshness of a new beginning and a new starting place.
It has become easy to throw away things. Trained to leave behind. Trained to look forward.
Do I love the short moments? Do I love the quickies? I am not a hedonist. How am I supposed to jump off the train at every third station if I prefer to work on a steadily moving train?
How am I supposed to appreciate the 'world-ness' if I prefer to get stuck at one specific place?
Let me be a proletarian and see the novelty from the window view of just one place.  My place. Whatever that might be.


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