I don't know why they have brought me here. This place seems familiar, but what's this...
By Rida Khalid
The wait
Poetry
I painted my fingernails this morning.
They look even fresher under the traffic lights. Right now,
There’s nothing but the whizz of my car
And the bellowing echoes of my thoughts.
It’s raining.
A pitter patter of summer monsoon
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