“You don’t believe, right?”
I asked myself.
Although I did not know the answer to it, I didn’t know whether it was a question or was it an answer in itself.
As June bound sun bent upon roasting the world outside, it remained too hot to step out. With the dirty, stale yellow sprinkled clouds in the sky, it looked pale and dead.
“you bet on it…” the walls within yelled at me.
“YOU DON’T BELIEVE…”
The walls outside took my hand into its hands in compassion.
The giver and doer- my hands, took shelter in those structured aesthetics of walls outside.
“Sorry friend, I am the lord…I am the belief, and belief doesn’t have to believe in anything…”
While criticisms of structure slowly fortified the belief, outside the dejected self lost in light –in the ever-burning sun that drives the world.
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