Diary Of Another Time
Thoughts on
Home. You carry it like a persistent image, spliced into the reel.
The same streets. The same corners.
Things passed a thousand times without notice, from childhood to departure.
They remain. Waiting. Every return feels less like arrival than interception.
The same streets. The same corners.
Things passed a thousand times without notice, from childhood to departure.
They remain. Waiting. Every return feels less like arrival than interception.