Sunday, January 30, 2011

En Transit.

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The wet, floor of the runway. Little games played by little kids. Serious talks from the adults. Restless youth. Old people who seems to think something unconfortable. It is when people are left to do nothing, that we see their hearts. I have no idea which group I belong to. I long not to be human, and that feeling is no more bringing me that uneasy chill down the spine.

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