Those flying faraways

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I’m missing a feeling, and not so much a person. It’s a sense of recognition, your soul making eye contact with another soul, and going… Oh. I’ve seen you before. Fancy seeing you again in this life. Let’s help our humans get to  know each other.

It’s these vanilla clouds, these souls that feel like home, these popcorn leaves crunching underneath our feet, these moments so familiar. They fly us by, before we can raise our arms and catch them up high above us. Yet, they stay, like pieces of paper held down by a snow globe, or a rock you found on the beach long ago. Why do they stay, and how? Weren’t we just chasing after them, jumping from one rooftop to the next?

If these walls that have stood so long and sedentary could talk, what would they say?

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