Everything depreciates. That includes desires. People turn into photographs. Contrast corrected, tint adjusted forms preserved in ink, not in words.

Whatever makes you happy,
Wherever you are,
You're so fuckin special.

My mother used to read that out to me when I was a kid. But I never paid much attention, so typically me and in course of time, it had successfully been brushed to one of the least visited corners of my mind.

Parched lips, excessive sweat remind me that its summer again. My first summer after years. The seasons have changed their shades, for the better, I presume.

Presumptions are also temporary.