Boston.

I’d like to thank F slash M for that horrendous interview. Some of you could probably tell that I had a toothache. My answers were just so bizarre! *sighs*

So, I wanted to be frank and appeal to all of you science nerds –  there is so much respect there for someone who cannot differentiate from an electron and a neutron – in regards to people (me) who cannot fully articulate what they would like to say when they are in front of those who are terrifyingly staring at you and listening to your every appellation. I mean, I don’t have stage fright or else I wouldn’t even stand at the front in the first place. But, my tongue feels like green jello and my brain would rather play Fetty Wap’s 679 whilst I’m in the middle of my very important spiel.

Has that ever happened to you? Is this a psychological, social science thing? ‘coz if it is, let’s just talk about Boston.

I love Boston. I miss Boston. I am everything to Boston. Jokes. Boston is everything to me. It’s known as the 2nd city in the East Coast but who cares. It has brick roads, less traffic, colourful subway lines, and trees, trees, trees, I could marry a lumberjack. I met someone in Boston who fetched food for me when I decided not to get up, and they have these duck tours that made me wish I was a Viking of technology. I’m only ever good at ranting and monologuing about whatever.

I took a photo of a father and a child at the Boston Public Library by Copley Square, Boylston Street and I felt its summation to my entire trip there. Four months, alone but not alone…you harness more than the power of individuality.

A poem:

For once,

I dream.

About fernweh.

Now fernweh,

dreams

of me.

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