Maybe he could try to write something while he's stuck instead of just sitting here for hours on end in the quiet by himself, trying not to think about how much he misses being in the world.
"The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and trees; There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound of water that gushes, And the cuckoo's sovereign cry Fills all the hollow of the sky. Who would "go parading" In London, "and masquerading," On such a night of June With that beautiful soft half-moon, And all these innocent blisses? On such a night as this is!"
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Maybe he could try to write something while he's stuck instead of just sitting here for hours on end in the quiet by himself, trying not to think about how much he misses being in the world.
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He's too embarrassed to admit why.
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"The sun has long been set,
The stars are out by twos and threes,
The little birds are piping yet
Among the bushes and trees;
There's a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes,
And a far-off wind that rushes,
And a sound of water that gushes,
And the cuckoo's sovereign cry
Fills all the hollow of the sky.
Who would "go parading"
In London, "and masquerading,"
On such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon,
And all these innocent blisses?
On such a night as this is!"
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"I want to see earth with my own eyes. Touch things and hear things."
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