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  • I wrote the last lines of my polka dotted notebook yesterday.
    I'm turning 30 in fifty-five days.

    The weather is too hot for this early November. My windows are fully open and I'm sitting outside on the balcony. There's a fresh wind blowing, inviting me to kiss and to be kissed.

    Sometimes it feels like I'm just where I want to be. And all I need is good music, a little love and somewhere to write about them.
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