The canvas was lit in the the color of tender fire.
Thoughts flying higher than the birds returning to nest.
The gentle breeze makes some love and dances the collar having combed from the leaves of the tree that stood in awe of the evening just like you did.
Canvas changes the hues slowly as you settle down with the hues in the head. Sometimes a little rooting is okay In order to bear fruits.
Does it means that I should be doing what ever I am doing throughout the life?
Do you even fkin know?
It would beat the initiation at the first place. Why did you do it at all.
Why is the debate? I thought you were learning from the mistakes.
Or mustering the courage to do new ones? What’s a mistake, sorry? I thought I was wiser and took my lessons for doing it better.
What about convenience?
I liked it while it was, and then too when it was hard. But I can assure the best of my learnings are from the hardest of my times.
Do you think it was good or bad?
It was okay. And everything is always good.
Would you do it again?
Why not?
The canvas changed to pink as the evening added vignette to the crimson.
Well done my friend.
You too.
And I shook hands with my other half.
No, not her. There’s no her. My better half. My other self.
I walked enjoying the conversations and watching the shades darker.
And the versions of me departed to their own gangs of passion and reason.