In Amsterdam

I miss you. Taking over the world together, in close contact. So spoiled we were, in our luxury of being near to each other all the time, that we sometimes even forgot. To fully appreciate it.

 Until it was ripped away from us, by painful kilometers and kilometers. By waking up alone. By having no one to talk to at the lonely moments. By having both our own worries that we hardly dare to speak out. A black scenario.

 Airports are mean. Problems are mean. I don’t like this raw reality of geography and circumstances. I like being in places with you.

Diving into Lake Toba. Walking through rainy days in Beristagi. Sitting on a rock on the way to Triund. Beans. Angry hour. Holding your hand in a dusty nightbus, and to not let go. Even when I fall asleep.

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