Sometimes I got the impression that we were both drunk, drunk to the world and its entirety. We were drunk, our heads simmered in a sea of thick red wine.
We gasped for sobriety but didn't find it. We had left the world of reality.
It was never there.
It was something out of a world of void, a world devoid of passion and flame. Probably, both of us had lost our internal flames a long time ago, lost in the trail or stolen by some strangers along the way. But that was the night, the night brimming in sheer, silent lights as reflected by the wet streets.There would be no more fiction after dark. The man of fiction had long returned to the harsh blow of reality, the way the real world returned to me.
photography by devina
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