It’s odd to have spent your year waiting for something. Though whatever sensation the waiting carries, it is nothing compared to the actual experiencing of what has been anticipated. The period I have waited for has now drenched me, but I fail to drown in it. Caught in the moment’s showers, I still only see the future again, as if trained by habit, accustomed to maintaining a gaze set in the distance, the dream I have waited for slips me by. And I realise, no matter if waiting, or making wild flings at attempts to savour the awaited, the days, all the days, they run away like wild horses over the hills.
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Sam
Hi I'm Sam and I write here exclusively at Samuel's Travels. Exclusively as by and large no-one wants me writing anywhere else. Please enjoy yourself while reading.
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happiness is a journey, not a destination.
Love it. In its brevity, its wistful resignation, its restraint and its imagery, the piece reads as if translated from the Japanese. Channeling Murakami channeling a classical Japanese author?