Empty spaces, draft

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In the beginning of October my grandma has been diagnosed with a cancer of the left cerebral hemisphere. This is my personal diary, but mainly a helpless attempt of translating the reality into any form of sense.

Slowly disappearing names, dates, words of everyday use seem like a parallel of what I see through the windows of her house. Empty village of people who emigrated, locked the doors and never looked back, dry fields, stray dogs. Green horizons feel melancholic, all what it’s once been, my endless playground. Now empty, still looking just alike, but with something missing, something big.

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