Yesterday I entered an old house and it got me thinking about nostalgia and my own life, which seems long to me to a certain extent but really it's just a drop in the ocean of history. Twenty-five years ago I was just fifteen but that distance is the same as from 1820 to 1845: a small interval when looking through the lens of history, for example. Anyway, it's why I'm starting thus journal. For nostalgia, memory, and the fleeting nature of time
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