The monsoon is showing its mights from morning. A day like this is not for work, really. These are the days of past that is present eternally in our minds.
These are the days where our childhood crowds our senses, and always will be. From here we look back with loving longings and fragile wishes of timid forgiveness.
Most I knew then are not here; will never be here anymore. Those who will compel me to wake up tomorrow have never known them; will never know. Between what I was and what I will be, I am suspended today, motionless, like a dew drop on a lotus leaf – holding my demise in my pulsating stillness.
I look back to those little things today. May them be returned to their peaceful abode.
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