on abu dhabi, on missing home*
(*edited) It’s weird, missing what you used to long to one day miss. The gray streets littered with sand always begged for stray grass and wildflowers to my young eyes. I guess the only place I found them was in the forests of a different kind of place. Don’t get me wrong, this place is fantastic: smooth and efficient, green and comfortable, a place that will call me by my name. Growing up has been the burning of vanity to make way for responsibility, and along the way, the c
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a brief anticipation of my recurrent blocks of thought before they move again. virginia Woolf and genius emilia-romagna floods, the...