He breathed the soothing fire one last time. He knew he was going to miss her. House 13; A story of my story. The perks of having a sapiosexual lover.

I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. I know that it happened, but it happened too fast for me to keep tabs on it. You cried last Friday and I.

On a swaying branch of a withered tree. On a lonely road in a lonely night. Is a wanderer worn out of his walking might. On endless windings in-between the forest,. Yet he wills his sore feet on to the quest. To find his lost village and family. From which he was taken at infancy. On a swaying branch of a withered tree. The flapping bird rests for another flight spree. Across large expanse of dry grassland. Between the scorching sun and the red sand. In search of food despite the famine.

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