I’m used to emptiness. You know—dirt roads, single street-light towns, skies that stretch on forever just to remind you of how far you have to go just to find a shopping mall. I’m used to knowing everyone, and having the entire town’s history imprinted on the back of my hand. I’m used to feeling stuck, in this tiny corner of the world, where insignificance runs rampant. It’s incredible how suffocating fresh air can be.
But here….there’s life here. I see more people flash by in a minute than I see in a day back home. People are walking and talking and laughing and doing. Noises fill the silence, and skyscrapers fill the sky—evidence that there is more in this world than just me. Here, I can stare out my window and see more than just a tractor driving by. Here, I can see different people from different backgrounds, doing a hundred different things at the same time—instead of just the same old farmers in the same old dirty overalls.
A small town has the space to stretch your wings, with nowhere to fly. Here, where buildings stretch higher than I could ever imagine…anything is possible.
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