I didn't particularly enjoy myself last night when we were at your mother's.
In the midst of the snug embrace of your mother's modest residence, where a crackling fireplace harmonized with soothing sounds of family conversations, I had been traversing through a landscape devoid of joy and pleasure. This time moved slowly as if it was bored marking not intervals by excitement but by sadness that overshadowed the event. How I desired for that tingling feeling to happen inside me but unfortunately was far from reach, so I had to find my way silently through that occasion while sitting there pensively but unamused.
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