Evenings, I open my dark flat, Enter the furnitureless rooms Boil milk (it spoils fast in these tropical summers) Make a lonely cup of coffee Light a cigerrette, See its burning tip nibble the paper endlessly.
"All of one's life is a struggle towards that; the narrow path between freedom and belonging. I have sometimes sacrificed freedom in order to belong, but more often I have given up all hope of belonging."
Jeanette Winterson
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