it makes me happy to see that, with all the crap i go through everyday, a book still manages to turn my world upside down.
it's the right book in a wrong world. makes me want to take of forever--for good. that's the whole point of it maybe--but you envy the road, you envy to journey, you envy the delirium and the illısions and the madness. you taste morrison there somewhere--god knows why. you realize the sweetness of people--almost cry when the little mexican girl gets the wristwatch. humanity comes to mind. layers of opinions melt away. all you want is to be in the desert, in a far away land, in the end of the world--the peace it would bring, how the joy would make you pass out.
then it makes you cry. you cry because you don't want to leave Dean around the corner on an unfaithful, unfamiliar, unsincere New York night. and you cry even more--cause you haven't even found him yet.
the road goes on and on in your head. that's the beauty of it, right?
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