There is something that is to be found in November nights like these.
My senses receive more.
Dark, dried, heavy footsteps peeping at few people on roads.
A drive to experience life so deeply but from afar.
It is like writing into some sense of an ending. Mild winters have always drawn me close.
Like a child in a blanket.
Afraid to move out, playing like a loner, sunk in some story.