do they greet each other, through the gaps between those water molecules which bleach their voices white? in some mother tongue of their own, another whose meaning eludes me? or do they shake or nod their heads, without a need for words?
what do the ghosts of this city do, these muffled, early-morning hours? slip soundlessly out to walk through the fog that has been holding its breath, and waiting? do they greet each other, through the gaps between those water molecules which bleach their voices white? in some mother tongue of their own, another whose meaning […]
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look at the rain long enough, with no thoughts in your head, and you gradually feel your body falling loose, shaking free of the world of reality.
even chance meetings are the result of karma. things in life are fated by our previous lives. that even in the smallest events there’s no such thing as coincidence.
