I’m becoming ridiculously sentimental.
It happens every time I realise I’ve got to leave this city. Like the nomad I have become, I know my time is up. And despite the comfort that I know I’ll see these people and these streets again soon, I can’t help but search for a way to bottle the essence of this place.
Every experience I have introduces me to a new Damascus. And this time I think I’ve found my Damascus.
And that makes it all the more difficult to leave.
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