i thought i would write again if i feel better. but i don't know when that will be, if it will be. so i try to look at what's in front of me, nothing too far off, not even tomorrow.
today there's a small package waiting for me when i came home. wrapped in tainted bubble envelope, is a book. i love receiving packages, even if i do buy them for myself. there's a certain joy of seeing it laying on the table, waiting for me to pick it up, unwrap it, then hold it.
alas, i am being all melancholy again. it was brief, like a gush of wind i was swept up in a moment, even feeling my heart skipped a beat... then... almost as unexpected as it came, the moment passes.
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