He woke up one day, looked ahead, and started running. Sweat and tears they're called, but to him, they were elation, they shed away all those years. Years that made him older, years that heaved down his powerful heart.
He ran, the wind killing one frown after the other, neutralizing his memories. One would think that memories are either good or bad, but the truth is, good memories can turn bad.
Not that he ran away from anything, on the contrary, he ran towards an armada of unborn memories, a family. He ran towards a silhouette his mind has done such a good job in creating, but failed at giving features.
Life is simple to him, not complex, help one another, smile, fall for one another and try. Why it has to be otherwise, at any given point in time, was beyond him.
Identity mattered no more, man needs not a name when alone.
A cliff.
He jumped, and plummeted to a new day.
Sleep, tomorrow might be the best day of your life.
i think it might be
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