Sometimes, actually most of the times I just get weird thoughts and it makes me an evil in my head but then I look outside and watch people counting me my good deeds yet I feel no-one is sinless everyone of us is derived by our deepest desires sometimes without even caring about anyone and that's what makes us human, to be human is to be errorsome and to accept it makes us normal not a great person just normal.
The nights of this spring evokes the combustion of dried leaves within me every moment, whenever I get into my diary. I feel someone calls me from the closed window panes that I used to open those days — the days of sultry summer.
The dried leaves, which are the black dusts now, flies recklessly all over my summer. These days I do lead them to apologize to my summer— who suffered many lightnings. And as the nights grow further, I witness more summons around the pane.
Tears rolls out of my cheeks — I feel inside this isn't because of fear anymore. The pages of the diary gets wet the lamp in my table begs for putting it out. And all of a sudden, a thunderstorm evolves — I throw my pen and their summons follows.