Wild like a marmoset, you swing happily among the trees. Me, with my notebook and my camera, sometimes I feel like I don't belong here with you. Like I'm pretending to be more exotic, more the creature I think you want me to be. I lift my head up to watch you, so at ease in the branches. Expectations so high. I want to climb, and I will try, but I must confess: I'm afraid that I might fall.
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