I had reached a point of life where I had to go back a path for a hope. A weak beam of faded light. Like stars, it could have been dead for ages now. But what is a man without hope. Having to pretend that I am busy typing is just sad. However now I can tell that I did all I could. I chose a path saying what hit me could never have missed me. Now that I passed right beside it, he can I know if it really missed me, maybe I am the one who missed it. So sad. So frail. Walking down the streets by the closed shops, stray cats a day garbage waiting to be collected.
How come I always choose the emptiest road? How come I always go past the crazy homeless, she was not laughing today , she was sad, I could feel it. Or was it me who is sad? When was the last time I wrote something depressing? Was it yesterday, or was it today? I reached home and went back to where I came from, seeking the beacon, fearing the loneliness. Passing me a an with a dog, two friends, a person chatting on his cell phone. Two stray cats. Headlights of the car, two fans of the external AC unit. Always in pairs, ALWAYS two. A pair of shoes. A pair of glasses. The two clocks I can see from my angle in clock tower. A family of display models in the vitrine. A thief and a policeman. Laughter's from the ads afar. Does she feel like me? That little girl who is begging for money while looking through the bar glass at those getting drunk. She doesn’t know what life she is looking it, but wants some. The laptop on my back in the hiking bag probably turned out again on its own. I can’t know why, but it is flaming with heat, a day I am carrying it while seeking the beacon. The road is going down still empty, but now getting dark. The only other sole I saw, just entered building with no light. Why is there is no electricity? Will there ever be. Suddenly, crossing the road in front of a speeding car does not sound awfully insane.