I often find myself sitting on the roof of my abode, scratching concretes with three of my fingers on the same edge I sit on and on the same time striving to manage my trembling leg from the other hand. Almost every time, I lose my awareness lying on my bed, head firmly in contact with the wall behind, eyes open, collecting the instants of where I had gone wrong and of all the things brooding for days. The bygone seizes my notice. I stop incidently on the moving lanes. I miss most of the prettiest sunsets.
I have been caught in most of the situations where I don't need to intervene. I have been pondering on most of the things which deserve least of my regards. Most of the time, I linger on the little things for longer time. Most of the time, I count over the little things that keep me bounded.