“So long as you go and come in your native land, you imagine that those streets are a matter of indifference to you; that those windows, those roofs, and those doors are nothing to you; that those walls are strangers to you; that those trees are merely the first encountered haphazard; that those houses, which you do not enter, are useless to you; that the pavements which you tread are merely stones. Later on, when you are no longer there, you perceive that the streets are dear to you; that you miss those roofs, those doors; and that those walls are necessary to you, those trees are well beloved by you; that you entered those houses which you never entered, every day, and that you have left a part of your heart, of your blood, of your soul, in those pavements.”
-Hugo, Victor. “Les Misérables.”
꼭 native land는 아니라도 한동안 살던 곳에대해선 모두 조금은 그런 것 같다.
문득 blood까진 아니라도 heart나 soul 한 조각 쯤은 남겨두고 왔구나 싶을 때가 있다.
