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May 28, 2018
You are a country I visited when I was young. I forget how many years ago. These are what stuck: Your small hands, your scent in the morning, the sound of your footsteps. There were so many areas to explore, but I could not leave your kind eyes. I wanted them to be my home. I still come to this place that used to be you. There is often a worry that if you see me, you would pretend to forget what we had. I knew you so well. I never knew you at all. Always, it would be both.