There's something so familiarly strange about this place. This pink sunset and charred smell of rain on dry ground. I've been somewhere like here. Another place, another time. Somewhere, someone else is where I was, and who knows, maybe with a happy ending. Imagine if we all experienced the same things at different times but interpreted them differently. Same experiences that shaped us to be different people. Life is supposed to be a continuous straight line isn't it. But somehow, it feels more like a circle, coming back to the same point this year. Except it's a spiral, a parallel line to the first. Side by side but not the same point. I just can't tell whether it's going outwards or inwards.