I miss Hong Kong.
Being alone.
Unfettered, timeless, effortless, clueless.
Aimless meandering. Like the fragrant waters of the harbour, waiting for neither time or men.
The parks, the harbours, the views. The journeys, the walks, the rides.
I see, I touch, I feel, I smell, I taste.
A bewilderment of the senses. The panaromic chaos. The concoction of flavours. The sensual and the sensuous. The bouquet of hte fresh and the stale.
All belieing a hard softness that is...
Hong Kong.
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