A disapora of bubbles in its reflective film rose up as the backdrop against him as the subject, and that very moment, something in me felt... free. I can't even describe that feeling; it was like someone had opened the windows and let the breeze in. Happiness is too mild, inaccurate, even juvenile to explain how it was like.

He was absolute clarity. Many times, such moments are immediately annihilated by my defense mechanism of the reality; I'm still me, I'm still depressed.

But he looked so beautiful, pensively eyeing the bubbles, I took the rein of thoughts and told myself, this is it, it won't last, so just live this moment.

I've been sitting in my head for at least the last six months, rotting into the same chair as I pen the lexical of heartache and a cacophonic mind. Every dalliance that came my way ended up with more perplexity and disdain above anything else- even inspiration that followed were halffucked. And I know he will leave, and I'd go back to being myself,

but that one second of him framed in time, was something so magical, so golden, ridiculous...

and heartbreakingly beautiful