Scrawling the unkempt corners – a shirt, a memento, an empty bottle and the mobile number (that won’t be dialed now) is what's left. My fingers run through each of these, rested on few, and hold – to clean. Then, placed them back to where they were; in dust, of unkempt corners of my household.
Morning is dripping out…but I ain’t moving by a single bite; except of a few cups of tea – sweet and bitter. A silence speaks, a dog bark, and sheathes of breeze fly by my dusty household. I’m still the motionless like the shirt, the memento, the empty bottle and the number (that won’t ring again).
No, I’m not dead. I got leftovers to survive.