division bell

Mr. X sometimes asks himself, was all these necessary? He takes a halt seeing his face in the mirror, is there something could have been done? In his deep slumber sometimes he is sleep walking back again on the eggshell, to find the origin of the crack.

Time betrays everything; time is the menace, time is core of all the nuisances. Is the world irreversible? Why time sometimes takes the anti-clockwise path to dig more holes in memory?

As time progresses, the ground shrinks. Now there is a petite place left between them to exchange words, may be it is mere hi and hello or just a wink of an eye.

The world is black, the motion is too bleak and Mr. X is tattooed permanently.