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.
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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