"What does it taste like?" He asked.
"Like the birth of civilisations and tribes.
Scattered nations following talking drum rhythms, reconnecting their stories."
"Like the bitter sweet syrup of life and truth.
Sugar frosted dandelions. The desire for the crystals to tickle your tongue out weighing the somewhere in the back of your mind fear that picking them will inflict nocturnal incontinence."
"It will cast long forgotten spells, shadowing your subconscious with forgetfulness. Creating space for memories of a place called home."
I met his eye. He smiled and I left him where he stood.
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