Roads always lead to places,
as the sun was down and I was coming back from work…the road seemed forgotten…
Viruses everywhere, leeches everywhere,
the windows were open and fat wives and fat husbands were coming through the front doors.
I remember I had my first kiss in this street…it’s difficult to remember your first kiss,
it happened in monsoon and now it’s winter after many years…
As I walked and inhaled dirt out of morbid diasporas, I found a man under these tulip trees still kissing his woman and as they were about to finish the act they chose to not end it…
They continued kissing… untill they were found by a broken window and in a shithole full of broken bottles.
I felt nothing…most of the times I don’t know anything; to feel a little more,
I kept walking through the sunset…I kept running from the organised desks…I had my home in the coastline,
the red, green, black cars all around…the headache around my head seemed blissful.
I felt nothing but the kiss was always in my mind…both the kisses…they were in between two points; hanging from a string… hanging from my influences of ruinations.

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Photograph: Johnny Martyr.