No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all.

54, the number of days left in Belgium. 54 days rest to seize every opportunity I see in my mind. 54 seems so promising, but when counting days, 54 if a pile of 54 grains of sand slowly running through the hollows between my fingertips. Those spaces hold so much. They hold my love, creativity, and capacity for self-improvement. Maybe if I grasp your hand tighter, and hope a little stronger, these grains of time I fear so much will stay on the shore of every green field I pass by, and rest in the eyes of familiar faces. Keeping strong hold of all of these places.

Je pense (dans le train) donc; Je suis:

This blank page does not reflect my thoughts;
which pour through my open mind.
Green waves crush that of which I’ve passed in time.