at 35 you think you are a learned man
you listen to what they say
and then you can anticipate what they gonna say next
you get bored with every word
there is no more suspense
there is this plateau
this plain
that holds you like you are owned by it
you struggle to be free from this ennui
this monotonous sound
of the sea
this diaphanous cries of the frogs
the lulling sound of the rain
the bursting of light that comes every morning
from the window
soundlessly
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