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Walk the same roads, breathing in the almost stale air of tiredness. The itch in the eyes woke one up, the night of no dreams is but a luxury. Still, walk the same lanes, see the expressionless expression on each and every face that comes to sight. The bus load of busy commuters, the train full of souls searching for a soulful place called home. The sun is up, the sun sets, the moon bloated to a full, it inflates and manages a smile somehow. Dreams are far and further in the faraway destination, with no compass on the palm, north, south, east or west, blind folded and losing the way. Yearning for a sky of blue and cystal clear seas accompanied by the taste of salt that has long turned quiet. Continuing the walk, nothing truly matters, nothing truly bad, the heart never stirs, a mind dust covered. Run, jump, chasing after the fleeting winds, alone or in a crowd, still very much solo.

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