It was a pretty cold, freezing night.

    A night drenched in silence,
    With such cold
    That hardens the nipples,
    And makes the hair on the back
    Of the neck stand straight;
    Nevermind goose bumps.

    A night holy,
    Only because we are alone.
    It is one of those nights when
    You only find solace,
    In the depth of your mind.

    A night when
    The only warmth you feel,
    Comes from
    Your own eccentric thoughts.

    On such nights,
    With closed hair follicles come
    The unimaginable widening of the Imagination, insight & perception.
    A night when
    Your philosophical self emerges.

    It is a night when being alone sucks;
    Yet, intellectually arousing.

    One of those nights,
    When their voices mean more
    To us than ever.
    A night when we try so hard
    To keep irrelevant memories
    In the old dusty box marked-


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