My ode to the stunning season finale of Hannibal.
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Photography
Excerpts from my oeuvre as a photographer.
Silently waiting for its occupants to return home.
Closing in around the light like it would be dark forever after.
Those innocent drops of rain falling from the sky never know the thousand ways in which they may shine.
Cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown.
The paths we choose are indicative of the choices we make.
The warmth of the daytime seemed like a dream now.
This moment will not pass until you let it.
Memories long gone.
Embracing the skies.
Broken shards. Shattered dreams.
Where is my home?
The green fields that dot the landscape near New Delhi.
It’s bad. We’re hit, man, We are hit.
