After spending more than a week and a half out of the city, I return to find myself sick in too many ways. I need to cleanse myself of the rush and roar, of the social media and the schedules and the things. I am overwhelmed, on entering the city, by a desire to acquire things.
So I turn to silence. And, when I have had enough of that, to music. Music, being an art I will never produce on my own, is an art I will never fully understand. That’s what I need when I’m sick from the city: something I will never understand. From misunderstanding comes curiosity, and from curiosity comes thought which echoes on and on, past these walls and this city and this illness.
Past this illness. Past this illness. Past this illness.
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