Hidings of these lights make it like a migration of places,
the deja Vu of my first senses keep resurrecting.
I was born here, I came to my beliefs in this time when rains used to make people fall in love and have each other’s skins on their teeth.
But after that; the days have passed with dumb supervisions and mellow suspensions,
and I have learned to say truth with fear…I have learned how people disappear with the change of the fallen leaves.
The touches feels more subnormal now…I can truly say the virgins in me are slowly dying…
I know a bus which goes for green grasses and flowing water…
it involves sleeping a lot and then making the weightless transition with no sound.
This impregnated monsoon is my last inn…my last barren land of reverberation…
drowning away… drowning away to the world of abandoned towns and deserted beings.

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Photograph: Google.