A Diffused Place
Weave me within the strands of your dreams. I will encircle them with min e and tinted with promising hues and sunbeams, I’ll carry what is ours always close. I used to tell him. I tell him. I don’t look at him when I do though-my head leaned on his shoulder, engrossed more on the ensemble of passersby instead. Reclining from the busy set-some hurrying, some ambling, some sprinters and some herding past sluggish chit-chatters- circumambulating the grand white c horten , we post ourselves at the right corner of the grounds of the Memorial Chorten . The corner with grass patches the longest, furnishing us comfort akin to a sofa. That’s what we need. Comfort-for it is the only surest thing we can get at the clutches of our demands and in immediate delivery. Never mind the means. Perhaps that’s what I need. This is ours I think and whilst staring at an Angay prostrate, I hope she prays for me and I pray too- that he thinks the same. I part ways with his sweaty f...