Kangleimaichou

You were supposed to pick the Asics pair, but the mind is still trapped in that bonk. At the florist, you weighed words and lines. You must have stood there for hours staring at the words, the lines and then the distant face. What did you get? This widening hollow in which the writer in you kept sinking. You thought it would be nice if she could come, even for once, after all the bitterness, to look at you and to look at what you have curated for her. The morning caffeinated person says the bonk belongs to yesterday. Oh, yes the trainers, and the mist-engulfed track where you barely recognise faces. You meant to go, you wanted to jump off. The emergency exit couldn't be pulled off; you wished had done so holding that book in which the person's occupation is thinking, yes, you have been thinking. But you haven't made money with the thinking. Why those three-piece suited 'gentle folks' and the ever-smiling few shower you all the reverence a medieval knight would have...

The choice to begin this quest was ours. We have been away for quite sometime. There is a realisation; this quest itself is a learning. What could bother you would be how many miles should be covered in a day, and then be ready to embrace another serendipity. This is what a troubadour would have embarked on; where a young soul would encounter discovery; life becoming rather progressive; and gradually you are this individual who can shed more.