You never know what saves you from sheer disaster. Sometimes the place where you feel that you belong to lifts you up from a sure fall on your face. And then you grow up and migrate. You are forced to leave or might choose to do so. When you leave and you wake up in the middle of night to search for the space only to find the time and space gone for long. You pull and concentrate through your long blood vessels. They rush! Sometimes even within your dreams you search for the body of the space - your bed, pillows, a window, the slice of sky and pair of eyes or a known smell - all lost (?)in time only to be found in the never-ending circles of time space sandwich.
And then you begin your search for the 'lost' in space. You find your imagined marks on the corners of your corridors or on the rooftop. Those whitewash renovations could only transform those walls and not your marks anymore. Not because they are imagined but because they are transcendental. They continue to lift you up, save you, make you relive many more ways than you would ever know.
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