Sunday.

A Story by Puja

i like the feeling of being submerged. feeling like each individual that passes by, helps form the protective wall around me. i like being pushed together. taking in the mixture of everyone's different perfumes and cologne. i like being pressed up against a cute boy. with each flirtacious touch being passed off as an accident. i like knowing that i can go into submission and float into my thoughts; with only worries of weaving through the tangle of people. knowing that yesterday is long gone, and tomorrow is way away. as i pass each clique of people, i dive into their conversations. and however voyeurisitc as it seems, i cant help but wonder more about them from the pieces of words i collect before i move on to new faces. i like the texture of voices that flit through the air; the lively and the monotonous tones combine to make an ear pleasing symphony. i like the eroded musicians that sit on the curbs. making beats with their bongos, acoustic guitars, and such. selfless in their rugged words; almost as tattered as their shoes. their guitar cases & tin cans nearby, open for donations of any kind. i like the glow of neon as we pass the crowded delicatessen. feet sore, eyes burned out, hair wild, from a long day @ the street fair. i like trudging back knowing that im almost home. but feeling like ive left part of myself back in the crowd. the crowd where i can truly be myself.