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I went to the woods not to realize (when I came to die) that I had not lived.



Nervous. Exhausted. Sometimes overwhelmed. Sad. Hopeful. Satisfied. Bereaved. Burned out. Aware of the Sun's beauty in the Montcau's Sunset. Grateful to Hamza, the boy who walked with a crutch; to Pilar, the girl who had such a difficult future that she is likely to suffer deeply nowadays; to the subsaharian boy with a name that I can't remember right now... he taught me that the God that many people consider so "father" didn't seem very worry about him; it had happenned few moments before I discovered that this apparently absent God was himself. Messy. Worry by thinking about the possibility of having displeased anyone with my politically incorrect opinions. Tearful. Sometimes longing my death, but at the same time wishing it to be far away.  Sometimes loving the sun when it overgilds the sea; this view is good enough to keep breathing. Sore with this strange civilization that on one hand condemns the nudeness, so precious, and on the other hand eroticizes it. Hating the private property of anything. Loving cooperation, kindness and freedom. With all these feelings... I walk toward the forest and sing "Arrels"; this is heartwarming enough to keep loving life.   

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