As long as COVID-19 VIRUS will take time and as long as I stay home, there is nothing will force me to get the feeling of longing to my old life with all its details except the time that I spent at the bookshop in EDC. A small room with a chaos of papers, fatuous machines and unpretentious friends that I can share with them my absurd loving hobbies, watching anime, playing PUBG, helping each other, and harassing each other by our forested actions.
I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between the black and white days but I think of every single memory I have received at that room always in those intervals. Everyday I imagine a streak, a white streak, painted on the papers, firmed in my heart, connected with my thinking, from me to them. It feels like my memories with them feel like home to me so whenever my mind wanders, it always finds its way back to them.
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