Φαντασία
Notes on Staying Still
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A month without travel, and what I discovered when the noise finally stopped.
We drove past it every summer for twelve years and never once stopped. Then one year we did.
A layover that became something else entirely - or perhaps it was always meant to be this.
Memory is not an archive. It is a garden - something grows, something is overgrown, something quietly disappears.
Όσα ζήσαμε μαζί είναι μέσα στην ψυχή στο μυαλό και στην καρδιά κάθε - κάθε σκανταλιά!