Turbulent Memories

I was alone, before you came along and now nothing is the same with the tick of the clock pounding in my ear deafeningly.

I reach out my hand and grasp at air, even as invisible dust is blown away like the mirage on the road to the Promised Land.

Hope. It barely keeps awake and like the gears on a pulley meshes to continue the rolling rhythm of routine.

All semblance of color and melody are absent except for the memories that rekindle the heart's eagerness to return home.

Haidarwali 201703061447hrs

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