Crickets still sound the same on the other side of the world. I imagine they are crickets. If not, they are excellent imitators of that which they have never seen nor heard.
Everything is beautiful here, even the ugly things. But I cannot help missing that which is not here, what I have left behind.
I close my eyes and I see more clearly than when I was there. My hand can reach out and touch what is so firm in my imagination.
With opened eyes the immense beauty of this place only reminds me of the beauty I left behind.
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