I had a thin translucent friend, you know. 

He had big blue eyes, always trying to make everything meaningless…always high. 

He couldn’t run…he was gracefully bohemian…he didn’t choose to run. 

But one day he went for a procuring call…and never came back, 

perhaps he was gone to get a free fallen noon of a poetic trance for all of us, 

perhaps he chose that too. 

However I wasn’t upset, 

I didn’t know the mad addiction of isolation and rainbows of a broken soul till then, 

I didn’t know his name. 

I remember he had three or four puppies in his courtyard one day…all of them just sitting and dreaming of a spilled morning…

they never touched but they were naked with each other. 

I guess it was a good thing he went from here, 

This world has bled too many times from sacred lonely wolves, 

It doesn’t need one again…

The empty people makes the most trivial parts of this world…and they make each other evolve into a nothingness…

He was no empty one, but certainly a dangerously artistic one. 

He should have left his address for me…

you see, he was born with crimson noons but I had to gain it by lots of whiskeys and outcast smokes, 

but now it would have been a glorious time to disappear into his navigation.

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