I saw a little kid holding my hand. An anxious face, he had. And watery eyes. I was supposed to get him home. But before I could, my dream fell apart. I woke up to find that I am here. Lying in my bed. Staring. Wondering. Unnecessarily as always. And as this dark night befriends with the fragility of my sleep, I understand that I am no different than that lost child. The hand I am supposed to hold is nowhere to be found. I want to go home too.