There is a smell of grass outdoors. Newly mown grass.
It smells like my childhood.
It almost brings tears to my eyes.
This is the space where I ramble about literature, love, work, play, life and everything else that happens to pop into my head. I write about my life as a Gothenburger in the diaspora. At the moment, the diaspora is Berlin.
1 comment:
Like the grass stains on your trousers playing extremely wild games with your long lost and almost forgotten childhood friends.
Yes, I can smell it too.
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