Circle

The Roads look familiar, but its a dismal distant memory from far back in time . There is a park and in the park is a bench. There is a blind man sitting on that bench and he is smiling. The guy with a slightly crocked upper lip is walking on the street dragging his feet. His feet are a light shade of pink, visible through his worn out slippers. His face on the other hand is pale. Sun is out, shining brightly on a cold winter afternoon . Pink yet pale. Sunny yet cold. The lull around the area is like the deepest hour of sleep, right before one wakes up, and the change in his pocket is making a sweet noise. Silent yet melodious. The lady on the balcony has a curious, almost dumbstruck gaze on on her face. Dragging his feet he walks to the corner and turns, only to come across a girl walking towards him. She has the coy look of affection in her eyes. He braves out a smile, but his face saddens even more. The color returning to his face quickly turns back, as he walks on. smiling yet saddened. He is walking into the sun now, and the walk feels a little uphill. But the steeper it is getting , more interested he is in walking on. The sun in his eyes is blinding, but he exactly knows where he is heading. Blinded yet sure. He takes another turn and walks into the warm cozy shadows of large buildings, blocking the cold wind and the blinding sun, but letting through the afternoon warmth. Out there yet shielded. Worn out slippers, pink feet, pale face. As he starts to get tired, he stops for a moment, but the feeling of déjà vu is getting stronger in his head and he wants to find out why the roads seem familiar. He looks back, for a long time, but walks on. He takes another turn and walks a while, feeling sad or happy or excited on the way. A little further there is a park and in the park is a bench. There is a blind man sitting on that bench, and he is smiling.