There’s this little place outside the town, where I think you can get anything with your eyes open. 

A little bridge, a thin line of stream and some birds. 

All regular stuff nothing too poetic or extravagant. 

Perhaps the place was some kind of a warm quilt for me to get inside from this cold horizontal world. 

Somehow this place used to remind me something very basic, very ordinary but long forgotten, that you can never know everything in your lifetime. 

It was like your girl’s warm lips the more you touch the more you want from the top again. 

I always had fair share of sadness in me and strangely after going there I used to get numb from nothing ness.

And nothing ever changes there even if you close your eyes for a brief moment.

In a nutshell, the place was a kind of serenity in my otherwise mad world. 

Once I stopped there and there was no water in that thin stream, only some dry shallow stone. It was dry but peculiarly beautiful. 

I never drank that day for a change. But felt horrible. 

Probably some changes are beautiful only in the lifeless, mindless and heartless kind of world. 

That place no longer reminds me of anything other than a stupid fucking waste. 

It was gone even from my closing eyes. 

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