When I was a teenager, I used to look at the night sky from my roof. It was always winter; I would grab a blanket, lie there, and spend hours just looking at the stars, thinking about who I was and all the things that had already happened to me.
Now, when I look up, all I see is a white ceiling and fluorescent lights, all the poetry from before deeply buried beneath my own ambition.
How long has it been since I last looked at the stars?
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