Last days outdoors. With blankets and a sun that glitters from across the sea, so low on the horizon that I'm squinting down on it from my fourth-floor balcony.
The cold is creeping up on me through my thick socks. But I can't stop watching the boats streak across the golden mirror of the sunset bay, talk to the last of the birds and listen to my five hundred songs. Because this is as close to me as I can get.
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