Close your eyes, the real world is painted on dark canvas behind shut eyelids.

Numbing. Every pulse sent a shiver to my fingers. They worked adamantly on, while my eyes wandered lost following their movement.

It was nearly finished. My mind was disconnected to every other part but my breathing. It heaved incessantly in rising rhythm.

Every thing else seemed to slow down, even sound. Had I been awake during the strange reverie I was in, I might have chosen to stopped breathing right then, and sleep.

Blink. I let myself stop for that short moment to watch it, finished. I become conscious of my heartbeat, anxious, anticipated, growing steadier at each moment.

And then everything stops. Then it swirls. Then order.

And it is right there.

Nostalgia is a place of meeting. The parts of us which we leave behind through our journey of life, sometimes they die away in our memories. Sometimes they live, and we find them again.

Wouldn’t it be strange to know, all the parts of us that we leave behind.

It wasn’t meant to be like that? But I left a part of me, right here, next to me, right now.