Knights Inn Flesherton
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- Continental Breakfast
- Free parking
- Pets allowed
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TripAdvisor Reviews Knights Inn Flesherton
Travel Blogs from Flesherton
... like to steal away without saying goodbye at all, not to be cruel, but to be merciful. Goodbyes hurt so much sometimes, the sadness can be too heavy to bear. We wonder how we can possibly let go of the people and places we have known, but inevitably we do, our memories weaken, displaced by new faces and new stories and new sensations. And in a few days I will be gazing upwards at the skies of New York City. At least, that is the plan. Let's wait and ...
... party, our chalet would get comprehensively trashed. But perversely, when I finally got home this afternoon, the upstairs was tidier than it had been in weeks. It was like nothing had happened at all. But of course, all of this did happen, these things I am writing about. The emptiness of our time here was filled with shining, echoing nonsense, much like the nonsensical, vacant universe is lit up with stars. The mountain will always be a thing that happened to ...
... we expend on memories draws things back to us, perhaps that is the real conclusion? And that is why to feel sad when raking through the bones of our lives, though painful and exhausting, is also an obligation, a necessary, crucial thing to do some of the time. That is why windows are built, why paths wind up at doors. Because we are looking out for the people we have known, waiting for them to walk back into our lives and make our chore of remembering ...
... next. Death, I expect, must often feel like that; when the end of life finally nears, one must wonder how it happened in such a rush, how did life go by so fast, even though the majority of days were no doubt ruled by a lethal boredom. The last moments on earth are perhaps the fiercest and angriest and greediest of them all, as we are inevitably betrayed by time in the end, a fact which should rightly provoke a final passion. Our lives are all ...
... moustache that looked fake and the heavy lumberjack shirt, told me of a girl he had met last year in that very hostel (he'd been living in the hostel a while, it seemed). Anyway, the girl was from Scotland, no less. She was a girl who had a grand plan to travel throughout Eastern Canada before heading to a ski resort and working her way through the harsh, painful Canadian winter. Hauntingly reminiscent of my own story, yes, but the overriding emotions awakened within me were ...