Memories of blue

“Then you find it in your bag, just unpacking luggages after being around for a while. You’re at home, but something has changed. As for any other trip, you get to notice how much you’ve been around only when you’re back. And every detail is not the same, streets smell differently, rain falls as from another life, and the sound of the clock strikes at a slower pace. Soon everything will fix up again, but something won’t get into place. Because in a way or another you don’t fit anymore in the clothes still packed in that luggage. And you even fit less in the ones in your wardrobe. And so I look at that badge, my name written on it, the labels, the colors. What will I think tomorrow if I’d find that badge again? In ten years, or twenty? Who or what will I be? Which names or labels will I have? If I think about myself ten years ago, what would I have thought about me now? The rain will fall again, and the streets will have a different smell, but as long as a clock will strike, well there will be a life out there to be tasted, people to be met and clothes to be changed again. How good is to be in this life…”


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