Didn’t  meet him in almost a week. Since last Thursday, to be more accurate. But maybe I prefer not to be accurate; to be inaccurate. Makes it more romantic. Somehow time just lags, chugs and churns on, through the murky, almost-rainy days. I get sleepy; then I wake up. I get hungry, and then, not. Somewhere in this timeless, clueless, voiceless country, he breathes. I guess I’m thankful for that.

Corridors; long ones, short ones, wide and narrow. Corridors with light. Corridors without. Corridors with laughter, Corridors without.

 And that  is, irrelevant.