It’s ten thirteen and I’m feeling nostalgic like never before.

Going back to the days of narrow streets and wide roads… the smell of the beige leather chairs and Drive by the Cars… the foggy days and the starry nights… the big fire and the Doors’ “riders on the storm”… the wooden door and the second floor… the candy shops and the corner tulip stores… the school buses and the mountain slopes.

Now, where do I belong? I’m asking in this teary night. Where am I from? It’s bloody hard; I’m confused.

And I’m afraid; afraid of all these fading away.

S