Between the guards who are trying to salvage minute after minute of their night’s forbidden sleep
And the early risers looking to get some exercise in the form of brisk walks
And the daily bread earners failing to hide sleep in their eyes as they open shop
I am a different creature altogether,
travelling between homes, looking for warmth that’ll set my mind at ease. Longing for the embrace that my heart could appease.
I’ve not woken up yet, I’m yet to fall asleep. I’m not exhausted, nor am I fresh as a daisy. I can still think straight, though often a bit hazy.
I don’t lurk in the shadows, or strut in broad daylight. I’m a different kind of creature, for me there’s no respite.
It’s just the journey for me, as no destination feels right. If only the journeys were picturesque… my conscience wouldn’t put up a fight.
I travel around in spirals, the years don’t seem to find a way.
I relive the moments years apart, and feel the impact like it was yesterday
The concept of time seems to be fading. The sky merely serves to be a changing scene.
Who would’ve thought there will be monotony even in the lack of routine?