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I was walking late in Glasgow last night. My mind was filled with music from the headphones in my ears. The air was cold, but not cutting. There was no wind or movement. The streets completely deserted. Even the ground beneath me was masked by the padding in my boots.
It was as if the only senses I had to guide my way was what I could see.
The amber street lights glowed defiantly against the night. They cast an unnatural light on everything they saw. The orange colour on everything was like an old sepia photograph.
I wondered if I was really there. I thought that maybe all the problems and stress in my life might belong to someone else. Another person in another world. Perhaps everything would be all right for me.
But I realised that it was an illusion. If I could hear the voices of the night, feel the ground beneath my feet and see the natural glow of the sun, I would know that I was here all along. The same place with a different point of view.
The wolves are still scratching at the door. Perhaps I need a third point of view. Perhaps I need to see the colour in my surroundings.
Perhaps I need to seize this chance. Perhaps I need to find the sun.
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