If you feel like the far-off land you have reached, and the glaringly bright hues you see here, are solacing you, giving you comfort, you've been dead for years. You can't find sentience in any of the dead, who showed up here with or without you. You, who went with the time with it's whims and fancies, have forgotten to go with yourself. You sacrificed none but yourself as restitution for the promise of time. You, who doesn't sleep in the bright hours, feel like you've slept in the afternoon. How many days has it been since you witnessed the luminance on the faces of those who extend their hands to you? Stories of Mahmood don't show the sky in your dreams anymore. Now, i see only nights remaining in you. To be with the spirits, to even remember the fragrance of sand, to be the nomadic bird of paradise in your daydreams, I need you back. Death is just a feeling until you taste it. "The beauty of roots that travel to God is...