Ficly

Trips, the Feeling of Motion

Gray morning, light drizzle, cold breeze.
My breath drifting wisps from deep in my coat and scarf.

The bustle of cars and people, the feeling of destination.
The muted sense of being in a place, the feeling of existence.
The thought of being somewhere else,
the feeling of travel, the feeling of future.

This all adding to the wet cement smell of beginnings.

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