I still think of what we could have been.
In the middle of the night,
When cities are asleep,
When markets have been closed,
When the silence is deafening,
I walk down the street,
Reminiscing the past,
Wondering why the pitch black night feels safer.
With every stroke of cold wind on my face,
I find peace.
Is it the night?
Or the solace that I rule with the moon?