Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. And months.
Months of procrastination and one fine Wednesday morning, I've decided to make my way to the Farmer's Market in the city. It's a weekly affair here. Sweet smell of strawberries in the morning air. Chatters of elderly couples. Warm greetings from stallholders. A blissful summer scene on a cold winter morning.
Seven months have come and gone. Yet every now and then I still feel like I am adapting, and sometimes like a little girl lost in this big, big world.
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