Till your shadow sets you free, you keep moving on, nay, you keep on moving.

On nights like this a heady concoction of distilled beer and fags are a welcome.


You think of a place, as you light up your cigarette.
You think of the past.
You weren't expecting it.


You weren't expecting the place to outlive your memories.
The place to survive your life and lives before, as you knew it.


You thought it will have been razed down to the ground by now.
For realities are harsh.
Time attains a stasis in perpetual transformation.


But harsher still,
You are surprised to find your past, eagerly awaiting your return.


You discover you've outgrown the place, in the end.

It has outlived your past.



Your memories are still aligned by the beaten roadside, glistening asbestos in the sun, reflecting your teary-eyed farewell seven years ago, forever on the lookout for that little girl who trudged the very path, clutching her parent's arms with tiny fingers, willing them to stop.



So she could catch one last glimpse, absorb in her insides that pristine moment.




I don't wanna go away.





It hits you. Now. Now that you've let it be.





People change.

Sometimes faster than places.