The wind rises. We must attempt to live.

At a bar, I watch the people speak, their movements and feigned laughs. I trace the outline of my glass. I try to go far away. Even the ones next to me seem distant, the uncrossable rifts between us lengthen as I stare off—too many moments of quiet. Again, I think of Valery. ‘The wind rises. We must attempt to live.’ I move my glass and speak.

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