Scribbling:
“He woke up and stumbled upon broken pieces of glasses still
lying upon floor, as those pieces of dream he had all night fading slowly yet
few pieces sticking upon his eyebrows, outside his half shut half open eyes. Night
ran down as fast as his glasses of scotch and he was lost again, feeling resins
of darkness still hanging in that bright blanket of dawn, while the sun smiled
through and robbed him of his part of intimacy he was promised before gulping
down several of those rounds while night was still young and thoughts were
still building up. He wasn't sure whether he could pick up all those pieces;
broken glass or dreams, one by one, knew it would continue to hurt in either
case, he lay down again, shut his eyes and hoped to go back to where he was.
Alas! Hangover is like a sadistic lover, one who inflicts at
you all those pieces, watches you scream while attempting to wake up while consoling
you sarcastically, for he knows you can’t do much but to continue to roll up
and down like a trapped mouse in a little box of steel.”
~ Praveen Parasar
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