9 minutes.. nothing passed.. seems to be less traffic.

thick mud walls forming..

changing colours in the sky.. growing brighter.. so beautiful at first, gradually mixing into a cerulean surrouding.. holding its ground, as pervasive as its dark twin.. sometimes its best to forget.. and forget the pain of not forgetting.. to let the colours slip away, swirl down the drain.. banished to the horizon.. beauty can be such a tragic thing.