Every day is like summer, if your lover shares her smile again. Shares her skin, and everything that torments her within.

If ‘all the world’s a stage’, then we have failed in this plot of ours. The pastures that once were, are now a wasteland turned to rust.

We have been caught up in stigmas of different kinds. A stigma here, a stigma there- Come buy yours for 100$ apiece at the local store.

I almost forgot how the bliss of the afternoon sun felt. The soft music of moving traffic, thirsty crows and the thump of distant bikes.

Who are you if not me? Who is this nomad called mystery? Who was hate and what did she do to love? And who amongst us did turn to rust?

It’s dusk as I stare into oblivion. Enchanted by the sound of leaves, The sound of trees, and the sound of everything that is free.