I choose to avoid this building at any cost whenever I visit the town where I grew.
So many memories and a shivering throat is not what you want in a smoothly acted script.
But as I was going past it I couldn’t help but looking into those corridors of running times…
through the railings of most cherished gate.
The afternoon was same as today when I opened this gate for the last time to get outside of it and to get disappeared into the prosecution of cynical time.
I remember I stayed back just to be with all these grand benches…these overqualified chalkboards, dusted tubes and a void; demanding to be felt…
It doesn’t matter how much you know about the endings…you will stumble upon your grave everytime you want to let things go.

I opened the gate and entered the place where moments flows like dry leaves,
the first kiss, first porn, first poem, first fight, first warmth of a hand on shoulders,
first windy romance…
all here, all growling with loneliness here in these floors of raw refugees.
I closed the gate again and got back to the road; just like before,
only this time I knew where I was going to.
I was going far from those fierce boys; ruling the field,
shouting and making faces to each other…
And after all those getting back to each other at the end of the day.
I am still going.
World is big and I have only gratitude towards those unstable boys for making whatever I am today.

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Photograph: Darren Rowse.