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The room is covered in walnut walls that meet the ornate tray ceiling. It hangs over the haze of the morning rays streaming through the hatched windows. There is a smell of leather and cigar hanging in the air like a memory from years past.


Books filling shelves that seem to fade into the ceiling, as high as wide. Gold writing on canvas wrapped novels, each one tells a story of energy spent on love and chaos, wilderness that only exist in the mind and fortunes from treasures in distant land.

This was the moment Rupert was born, spending time in that space filled my mind with a creative burst, I wrote and sketched and then my therapist called me in.


Moments like this can happen anywhere, you just have to be aware of them and capture it.

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