Day 60: Napoli

It's a feast, really. Everywhere and beyond. Stuffing to the gills caverns long empty, accustomed to dust and cobwebs, a going-without, a disbelieving.

Sometimes I hold onto the dream so long, so close, it becomes a raisin in my hand. Don't I see this cheats me? Shrivels down the hope so just a shell remains. And that's certainly not a meal.

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