it was a plain phase of seasons changing,
not your typical : nice, no longer too cold yet too warm.
it was a boring melody of lullabies,
a company for through zillion nights of hopelessness.
it was a shaken faith of spiritual encounters,
a harshly quiet battle between trust and distrusts.
it was a series of nights of thousands untold tales,
a beginning, a conflict, and an ending. a closure of all.
it was never an open ending of yesterday,
so that better never, in fact, the right word to start the day.
it was how things slowly vanished, and reborn.
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