Essay and novel with emotion like a dream.
I wanted to read or write something. But when I sat down, I wanted to run out. I thought that the scenery in front of me would be renewed when I left the house. But the landscape was already old with others. But I did not want to go home yet. I needed time to hold on this feelings and emotions that wavered in front of my eyes now. Inspiration is so easily scattered. I followed the scent, wrote down something and exhausted. What did I think I found?
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