Stranger than

After all; after all of it, the yellow and purple rain of flowers and moments like pauses on cloudy days; after the unveiling of a white hot labyrinth and climbing ruins of lovetales lost over a million summer winds, he finds himself estranged once again, in the midst of a blue cave lit by dirty fluorescent lights that make faces look like photographs and the eyes unblink now and then.
The night crashes in, and the wheels harmonise with the wind. A thirsty girl in peach salwar glances, clutching on to her white salt scented handkerchief. Bagged eyes half close and then lips are licked or fingers twitch and the spell is broken by the cry of midnight babies whose mothers, clad in yellow and then black, are too tired to put them to sleep.
And tomorrow evening will be a dawn to a new beginning. Again.