The hotel where we have checked in has a little staircase that leads straight to the beach. An old man who writes stories owns this place, he saw us last night while we were up on the roof singin and dancin merry songs with the waves. He was quiet and just sat on his chair. He must have seen many before like us- vain youths, aloof in our escape. Beside the hotel there's a ruin that once stood tall and wide and perhaps had arched gateways whose skeletal remains still stand inviting the best of the romantics.
Romance is mostly adorned with reality that we choose to ignore, you know, and this morning when I took my camera out to take some snapshots of the ruins, I found out quite a few people in there, answering nature's bigger calls- some were singing along with the waves, some were dancing (possibly), a singing-dancing latrine in the shore of the world- romantic in its own light,
no?
Romance is mostly adorned with reality that we choose to ignore, you know, and this morning when I took my camera out to take some snapshots of the ruins, I found out quite a few people in there, answering nature's bigger calls- some were singing along with the waves, some were dancing (possibly), a singing-dancing latrine in the shore of the world- romantic in its own light,
no?
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