Tuesday, March 11, 2014

It feels just like October. Pathos laden, sweet smelling onset of the exiting autumn by bidding summer a complete goodbye and progressing towards harsher winter.
I sit alone in the room listening to indie songwriter crooning about the night being young and the possibilities of the evening being endless.

"Lots to talk,
Lots of time."

Feels like a mirage. A hazy memory from yesterday which I'd forget just like the capitals of the states in India.

It's too cold for a fan, too hot for it to be turned off. 

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