Rain. A lamppost. White canvas shoes, damp.
Genesis — a thin, useless hymn in my ears.
People pass like practiced ghosts.
She says she cannot love me.
I fold that sentence into my palm; it is cold.
The street exhales and erases itself.
I learn the end too late.
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The New Renaissance Mindset 
This is haunting in its restraint. Every image feels deliberate and weighted, letting silence do as much work as language. The way emotion is distilled into simple, tactile moments—the cold sentence in the palm, the street erasing itself—makes the ending land with quiet inevitability. It’s intimate, cinematic, and painfully honest.
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I am deeply grateful for your encouraging words. Thank you, Mr. Verma.
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