To bury my hands in loose soil, so to conceal them and embrace estrangement, was a choice. It is always a choice, only brought about by a fate that leaves you skeptical about the spirit of human.
I have a furtive understanding with those in my surroundings, which was not there earlier. And now when I meet them, they know that unlike them, I have many worlds colliding with each other. And sometimes I am in their realm and at other times, I am hollow when I am somewhere lost in the worlds of my own making.
I visit them quite often now, if not in my physical self but then, as a reminiscence, clinging to a wall as they sit and talk, unaware that the sun faces another eclipse.
“He is a Ravana with the ten heads,” they articulate. I cackle, my 320 teeth glinting in moonlight.
Linked up with VisDare 65. It has been a while since I last participated in a VisDare prompt and it is good to derive inspiration from this amazing photograph.