The coffee's getting cold and I'm getting a little too old for melancholic musings, but here I am, breaking the chain of not blogging because my time is consumed mostly by vaguely essential cut through's. I remember how vibrant my dreams were some years ago. . . Even before the dawn of artsy photos of journals, books and coffee, I already saw myself right there at the corner of the cafe by the window pane, mindlessly writing about well kept memories on my journal, right across an earthy mug of iced vanilla caramel macchiato,…
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