Life takes you through experiences which you think best kept hidden within you, yet somewhere at the back, it just keeps on itching, edging you slowly to that brink when you want to stand up, rush out of the room and scream out your story to the world. Is this it?

I went out today with two guys, one in the hope of having found a way in his life, the other on the cell, trying to keep to the way and not stray off. The common objective? To have a smoke.

The vast field stretched out in front of us, dark in the early night, the sparkles from the buildings up front reminiscent of the civilization that existed around us. An odd car moved silently along the road far to our left, not very clear for the foliage, but silent enough to be feline. The breeze was ecstatic, the cool air playing with our skin, now shivering us right through our clothes, now drifting us off into the bliss of calmness. Standing up, we spread our hands. We were happy. " Gentlemen! Live your dreams!"

The smoke wisping out from the corner of my mouth, I turned to look at the two. Dare I call them friends? I do like to spend time in their company, but should I take the risk? Is the wound still that raw? Will it ever heal?

Life, it brings you across strange people, people you like at first sight, people who gradually grow onto you, people who walk past you. Is anyone who stop in his way to pick you up when you suddenly stumble your friend? What about those who ask you is you are alright? What about that guy whom you picked up ..... he looked honest enough when he expressed his thanks ... can you call him .... that?

Questions, questions, questions ... this is getting too monotonous.