I miss the feeling of watching the red sun set, the playful layering of colored clouds, the star-studded black night curtain, the bright summer greens, the subtle and not-so-subtle young lovers in public, the microcosms in the crowds - the stories without pretext or prologues.

I miss the feeling of the lukewarm morning sunshine on my face, of the silence of the morning world - half awake and half asleep, of the cold tingles of fresh raindrops on my toes - carefully extended out from the safety of a shaded balcony of a high floor, of the empty churn of a hungry belly on a fasting day and the satiety of fullness thereafter, of reading at a stretch.

They are all here, the sun, the clouds, the rain, the blues of the skies, the greens of the earth, the crowds, the swell, the fast and the foods. I am here too, but not all of me, perhaps.

May the remembrance be the restoration, but, what's gotten into me?

sketch of a boy circled by all luxuries and still not feeling joy
Image created using Bing image creator