To the vagabond, the wandering soul, his empty smile and his distorted spirit.To the life he wants, with no future to foresee and to the stories he lives and believes in. To everything he has which was never his. To the worn out photograph in his heart and the ink stained letter in his pocket. To his pain and his happiness. To the truths he hid and the lies he spilled. To his perfect eyes and those perfect lips. To his perfect chest and the hooked nose. To every bit of him.To his mother who never gives up.To the silence in his words and the comfort in his touch.To the man he has become and the boy he reckons.To the smoke of his cigarette, to him, to us, and to everybody…broken!
– Anshika Prakash
I found this somewhere and figured there was no way I could keep myself from sharing it 🙂 Salt has been added as per taste.