He just stood up under the wide blue sky that was half-filled with white clouds floating light and fast. He wished his head was nothing more than that blue sky, he wished his thoughts were exactly like those clouds, floating, light and fast. He wanted to sit down and watch the sky until his head flooded with heavy, rustic thoughts would be cleared one day, resembling the sky. He thought that is possible as everything is possible. He has been told many times that everything is possible. He always believed that everything is possible, always, and that something called everything included him, as “always” that covered his present, his past and his future as well as the any timelessness he might find on his way. He thought everything was possible always and his existence was a part of those possibilities. He was / is possible. At least theoretically…
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Book / Literary Fiction
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