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Alone are the ones of myself who fly again
By memory i envy you all
I cannot go to places
Where i was happy
Or places where i could be
There is no direction
The streets are empty - of dust and sea
And a boat is never near or far - or close to me
And i am magically not the sea
Not the wind but nothing that can be
I envy you all
I envy all of you who come back to me
Memory of a rock, sand or tree
