it is simplest to write about yourself, for reasons best left unexplained..

#3 Mia Riddle and her band - Grand Children
von lecargo

things seem less ordinary today.

all the plants in my street lie dead, for its winter. and it is cold. another year around the sun, i go around smiling at the things i sold.

i walk in and out of many lives each week trying to catch a glimpse of what days with sunlight would be in the worthy shadows of friendship. lives in their distant selves being entwined into a lil maze of subjection and gumption, where dialogues are often restricted to conscious colourfulness, or on cloudy days - unabashed playfulness. and in the middle of the sentence, i pause and i wonder what am i doing here in the midst of the deliberate society that is pleasantness. wherein this lil forest of people who stand still in their perceptions of life and its likes, i have seen many wither into meaningless memories. surreal seas of words flowing under and around bridges made on astonishingly soft lands of reason.

there is a street in my life where i walk without fear, all the hundreds of houses abandoned within sight, not a soul. there is no ghastly sense of dismissiveness to what i see. in the little words that turn around these fingers, i mean well.

but for the things, which deem less ordinary today.