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My friend failed the appointment and I had this man beside me with untimely heavy woolen peering into the condensed haze of that October evening. Being alone is scary, the hoarse voice melted the silence *and being alive sometimes scarier than not being*, he paused as if the words had drained him *when you hope it the most and none turns up to feel and fill you*. The fog had almost devoured the halogen leaving me only with the voice. It's uneasy, I spoke at last, *isn't it weird to be talking without being seen*? Not in the least, his laughter rattled the slumberous air *the world long turned away its face from the face beside you*.
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Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
The Man on the Park Bench
My friend failed the appointment and I had this man beside me with untimely heavy woolen peering into the condensed haze of that October evening. Being alone is scary, the hoarse voice melted the silence *and being alive sometimes scarier than not being*, he paused as if the words had drained him *when you hope it the most and none turns up to feel and fill you*. The fog had almost devoured the halogen leaving me only with the voice. It's uneasy, I spoke at last, *isn't it weird to be talking without being seen*? Not in the least, his laughter rattled the slumberous air *the world long turned away its face from the face beside you*.
pradip-chattopadhyay
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Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
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