parched browning book on the highest shelf of a vintage book store someone would pick it up eventually, drawn to its unique charm. an uncharted best-seller with layers of dust as its cover art.
ah, the smell of books
isn't it strange that the smell makes you nostalgic, giving you a flashback of a past you've never experienced?
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that record playing on the vinyl that everyone nods their heads to, with wine in their hands till the same question wanders the whole room; "what's the title of this jazzy anthem?"
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walking in the midst of echoing chirps in the timber land dead leaves crunch beneath my feet I paused, considering whether I should perch myself on the Earth in the middle of nowhere I did so, as the leaves nestled me I looked around at the ochre and the mahogany of the dead leaves, laying on the face of the ground, defeated, after a hard life I let out a sigh and sympathised
Nature was comforting me and I sat there, embracing comfort, feeling it after a long time