Sleep is late for work. Praying at two in the morning is usual. The dark hissing night slowly sets adrift my mind. I dream of contending pilgrims, hasten to surpass myself.
A cold wind gushed through the half open window. Suddenly my eyes wander beyond a body so still. Through the misty dawn I saw, the hastily contending little pilgrims along the newborn sunbeam, as if the pilgrims of my dream return to the bright sacred place.
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