and what are we really, but nothing and everything?
There’s this field. It is so beautiful and open yet secluded and surrounded by trees that are perched on the cliff. You often stand above, looking down wishing you could be in the middle of that field. So, you do. You go down in the field, and look up at the cliffs surrounding it with the perched trees that grow slightly slanted. And you look up, wishing you were up there looking down, wishing you were exactly where you are.
The way they turn right.
The way you turn left.
And the dogs drink out of vases here
I don’t think you can ever go back to something and have it be the same.
I love how different types of books have different smells.