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The Magic of 7 Years’ Time
I write this from a hostel lounge in Lisbon. The sky is a clear blue, not a cloud in sight, and the immense Rio Tejo sparkles beyond the orange-tiled rooftops. A live street guitar …
journaling
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Life As Poetry
I’ve been coming to the realization lately that my memoir needs to be less “logically” structured. It is of a nonlinear story, after all, and most major “characters” play multiple “selves.” When I sit …