I treaded an old memory lane last night. The narrow path filled with cobblestones brought back a haunting sense of familiarity. The murky remnants of the past and pale visions of those halcyon days were painted brighter by the moon that looked at me from above and smiled—a smile that was at once so sad and so cruel.
My eyes scanned the pillars that adorned the lane on both sides. I observed the carvings etched on them that spoke profusely of the times bygone; my heart succumbed to the vortex of an emotional impulse and throbbed in an aching agony. It pumped in bittersweet memories that were fed to it by the tenebrous ambience of the lane, and it pumped out melancholia galore.
I closed my eyes to soak in those memories while breathing in the air of a turbulent romance. It churned inside me, wanting to tear me apart. It felt disconsolate and it felt numb.
An owl hooted far across from me, perched on a forked branch of an ancient Oak tree. It broke the silence of the night, and I opened my eyes to free myself from the claws of nemesis that had been holding me close to its bosom.
I exhaled dead romance of a primordial past that now flew high over the vales and hills and scattered across the sky. The moon had lost its innocence. I looked up at the sky and smiled back at the moon—a smile that was at once so sad and so cruel.
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