A compass called Bexhill.
Today is not an epic day. Today I don’t think about the Great Landing at Bexhill. I am listening to Keane, writing in English as a personal challenge, and systematising my next essay.
Today is a cold day and I feel overwhelmed by everyday life: bureaucracy, work, ambition.
The only compass that has accompanied me has a name: Bexhill. And it has a territory. That is where I keep going.
Even on days like today, when nothing seems to matter.
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