It is at this time of the day, when birds gather on the wires and in the trees outside in preparation for the dark, that words like 'contentment', 'quietude', or even 'happiness', come creeping in, unwanted.
I wonder why we are forever retracing the steps of others before us, searching for the vanishing, the lost, the non-existent, among illusive ghosts and gods. And the thought that 'home' will be there, somewhere, an old friend waiting. Poor fools, as if time could be arrested.
I didn't come here for this, I didn't. Or did I?...
I wonder why we are forever retracing the steps of others before us, searching for the vanishing, the lost, the non-existent, among illusive ghosts and gods. And the thought that 'home' will be there, somewhere, an old friend waiting. Poor fools, as if time could be arrested.
I didn't come here for this, I didn't. Or did I?...
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