The preemption of these nights lives on. IPL got over, dad doesn't stay up late, the street-dogs still get into mid-night wars, a flatness sweeps me. There is a new found emptiness manifesting itself in an adherence to a civil life.
Yesterday, at this hour, I remember gazing into the denseness of the skies through the window of a speeding train. There is nothing about it, except this belief that I have stilled myself from regularities. And then the revision of thought happens.
[ It moves me to wonder if salvation is born thus. Would a conscience and awareness of states and choices warrant it? Redemption is therefore born in us, should I say; pulling ourselves out, gathering ourselves... Liberation should thus be a null set. Then again, the idea of salvation can be dismissed saying it is an intangible pursuit and merely a theoretical fixation irrelevant to our existence. Farty enough.]