I would sit outside the bedroom window with skeleton trees hanging over me. Gazing up at the stars, I’d take a drag off my Camel and wait for the coyotes. The cool harmonic breeze shadowed the feint sounds of far off crickets. The air was thin all around, the kind that bends the youth to their knees, in disbelief. Then the silence, the darkness, muzzling all impurity stood still. And through the night, with all the horror beside me, the flowers grew, ’til dawn.Upon my return, that was my first memorable impression, thickly left on me, of a sanctuary that proposed a diametrically different sort of life from the world I actually live in, the world of ones and zeros bouncing around like neurons in seemingly randomness only to subtly build to forms. I can sit at my computer endlessly if I didn’t have to eat or sleep. Thank goodness I have friends and family that don’t let me.It was at that sanctuary in the hills where I became absorbed with the technological world and temporarily brushed aside some of my dreams. I wanted to write novels, live the writer’s cliché and move to Paris, struggle on the streets for… Read full this story
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