Once Upon a Place

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I never felt like a king in my good old days. In fact, I never felt being in “good” times during my passage through the old days of mine. That’s the problem with the present time: anything about its being good or favourable is realized in the hindsight only/generally/humanly. Mind tends to fill colours that were probably not there originally; alter shapes to make them look better or worse. I don’t know what it does, or what we make it do, in order to make past a good place to be and live in. My past place (no plurals here) and times have a colour that may not match with the original that was then.

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