School
I love this place.
The feel
Of cobbles floors under my leather shoes.
Of this wood, worn soft, beneath countless fingers.
The smell
Of fresh paper and ancient stone
Of slow air and cold hands.
The sense
Of great deeds done, and times forgotten;
Of scuffles won, and battles begotten;
Of people, of generations
Who sat as I now sit, who studied as I now study
Striving as I strive.
I love this place.
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