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Sunday, March 18, 2018

Road trips bury my sorrow.


Road trips bury my sorrow. The scent of the sea heals me. I forget about my incomplete parts. Instead I become more complete than ever. New taverns, new people, new ghosts. No words could describe the glory of staying overnight at new inns each time. I think I’ll travel until the day I die, I guess I have developed a peculiar theory about humans or maybe just myself; being incomplete is a form of being complete.

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