The self

Visual solution

for the prominent disease

hands-on practice

along with the best ions

cold, pale and dead

sprawled on the hospitable bed

the window is slightly open

an allergen breeze comes in

around

true connections are the disappearing

and adoration? each on their own

"Good evening", he said, "Good evening", and leaned against the wall by the bus-stop, "Today I've been roaming around the city. My face has been cold in sweat shift in shift out. I changed routes and bought more tickets but I all day returned. See, it's night now and the stars are visible in this lousy city sky. I was born here, and I discern the stars even at cloudy middays. I came clean in the morning but all was dust and mud on the priest. I ran out, it was not the kindest of feelings. Them people were flowing away alive. Pain relief at its best was of no use anymore. Them people were chafing away alive. My weaknesses were walking along. Warm tables over which I once or twice or thrice wept. Then another and another. The sea has been fit recently. Delicate and vast, silent by the concrete.

They resent when the sea speaks. I never mouthed a word. I've been roaming around the city, a newborn flâneur that expires the next day. Next to the diner the smells were thick and vivid. My lips didn't move an inch today. See, it's a major debate on the graduality of phenomena but in fact the critical point stands exactly between each two states. From one day of belief and hope comes the next day of none. Always, I was persuaded about the absolute dedication that comes along with love. Love is prodded; it does not fulfill its definition.  Always starts from a point and returns? No. My wife died last night. Always starts from a point and cancels. The subject, though, us, returns. I've returned. And this state is the genuine reality and dedication; the self
delicate and vast, silent by the concrete."