It’s the same smell in the morning

When the humidity and the temperature is still bearable

And the locals are out and about

The cane sugar

The sun

The humidity

The red soil

The grass

The same drama

The fights

The tantrums

The screaming

I go across the world to come back to the same place

The despair

The waiting

The dependency

I sit around in cars

Looking out the window

There’s that dirty river

Fruits sold by the street

It’s so similar to the motherland

The market

The heat

The inner turmoil

It’s the same in Malaysia


Campo Grande

even though I have never been before

feels so familiar


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