And as I sat there all alone in the yellow lights watching the raindrops splash and beat against the glass that stood there silently as a partition between the exterior and the interior, couldn't help but trust, all over again, that lil' voice within which I've come to trust so much as it whispered that I'm focussing on the all the wrong signals.
It becomes impossible in times like these to discard anything that smells of hope with a wave of the hand. Inching closer to victory, I am, maybe. Chances are. Atleast I choose to believe so.
Over coffee, God spoke. A lot can happen over coffee indeed!
