23/03/2017

not at all here . part 1

Most of the times I walk past all the brightly yellow and purple springing flowers or heavy-scented petals of apple trees flying in the wind, I just really wish to be somewhere completely else. And I wish to be alone.

What's this all about?

My photo
Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by his heart; and his friends can only read the title.