And those who cannot love - will be forgiven.

When it rains on a sleeping city - a fistful of yesterday's unhappiness gets placed on my palms. It is like the city knows that I had run away. And right now - I sit ensconced in the left over moisture of the night's cloudburst hiding from another city.

A familiar heartache. The fresh feel of nascent salt water - happens every time I leave. It is like I am running away all over again. I wish there was time to sit down and stroke the demons to sleep. Let them know that even love is a war. A terrible war. The casualties are far too many and there are no flesh wounds.

The familiarity of my surroundings had let me sleep peacefully after days. I dreamt - jolted out of sleep and with a strange ease - slipped right back in. Every single day of the past few - I have fraught in despair with my dreams - begging the city to forgive.

I am like a fugitive here.
And I am told - by the old staircase, the haunting empty terrace, the rain swept night - those who cannot love - will be forgiven.