The book is made up of some scattered memories, scarcity of words due to which much more could not be described. with a very bold image settling deep down inside me with alacrity but inability to draw.
I pass everyday through the same roads driven by same pair of legs, thinking some broken pieces of thoughts which used to come but were never absolute, containing a lot of pain inside them;
like a thousand mindfulness of thoughts lost and wandering merged in my path and those would keep asking "where should i go? please tell me." They'd always leave some of their's part in me. I could never fully understand them, i just tried to describe them with my weak and helpless words.
This book is currently empty.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2118271-The-Wanderer-And-A-Living-Abstract/month/4-1-2024
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