hole

And the night time creeps in, with such calmness, yet carrying a slight note of caution. You see heads of black, brown and golden everywhere, bent low, or raised up displaying a perpetual frown. Worries cast over their young faces, the faces which hold all the candour of youth, but only for now. Nothing is fixed, nothing can be certained.

And then there were them, the category of punksters, wild with youthful lust, giggling with absolute gayness, uncontrollably and physically attached to one another.

A few seats away, seemingly calm on the surface, yet inside- battling with self, core, beliefs, mind. I looked, trying to read any slipped faint contortion of the face which could mean anything, anything at all.

I stared downwards again at the endless characters, little ants are all I see. Love and some verses is all I hear.
That was hours ago.
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It's 2 a.m. now, what am I doing in this small confined space of a virtual diary? I should get back.