I feel like a wolf at the best of times. And the moon is a pendulum that lost its urge to swing. The disappearing urge. The torch. The spotlight, beaming down. I howl across the town. From one end to the other. I walk home alone, soaking up the streets here in the outskirts of my beloved home in Budapest. The silence of the streets. The rumble of trains that breaks the silent moments. The moon's constant glow upon everything. Following my every move. Kissing my shadow. Throwing another shadow. Shadows chasing me down streets and corners. The effortless night. Alive and magical. I am the wolf, waiting in the wings. Tomorrow I shall have my way. Tomorrow.
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