Sometimes I find myself in the middle of conversations, contemplating the invisible threads that weave human connectiveness. Maasai food markets in the early dawns never fail to mesmerize.
Just now, I almost tasted the smoke on the riverbank from that one time; there’s serenity in the echoes of past summers, especially when the night sky drowns them in cobalt.
Mondays don't have to be revolting. There's a peculiar rhythm to their early sunrise dark alleys which one loses the desire to question. Except yesterday. Everything was too loud.