One should never be too carried away by the gathering bustles of life, when contempt breeds opportunity and appreciation only manufactures in quavers. My walls stopped falling down on me and journey's narrow alleys are lit with blessings, grace and hope. The cottons of overcast hang an arresting kind of beautiful. The rest of the world closets itself from the horizons of soft drizzles.

But amidst this solace, I am reminded of the surreal sorrow of my four years of past with you. And that's how I know for certain, that we're better down this separate path.