It is who for whom it was written will give the title....(A constellation of Turbulent thoughts)

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As I came to the roof top and glanced the sky , by glance I do not mean looking for a few minutes, when I look at a piece of nature, I have to look long enough for my existence to melt and merge into the reality of the other , for me to feel every photon of its presence inside me as I inhale and exhale, for my eyes to abort and erase each cent of memory they already have about the thing in view , to see it as if they are "seeing it for the first time".I looked around. Perhaps her sky resides in more beautiful surroundings than mine,a random thought struck my mind. Was it the ultimate diffusal of stress the brain was burdened under, which made everything so gorgeous, for her and for me also. 

Should I write about those 3 stars, descended from heavens, placed flawlessly equidistant from each other, so still , as if trying not to disturb the tranquility the sky was providing to the chaosed minds of earthlings, "Does their symmetry hold the keys to the secrets of someone's destiny. Is there an astrologist trying to link their birth to the creation of a human soul?" Or should I just drift my gaze without resistance to a star sparkling so desperately near them. 'Is there a person, lost in a desert , asking it to show the way?" A thought struck... Should I write about how lonely you look? "Being the brightest yet so lonely , why? What sin did you commit. Why is my mind seeing you like the fallen angel, the fallen, once God's beloved angel. Do you have any similiarity or is it just my absurd tired brain trying to make connections, here and there , trying to find a cause to this universe, to make stories overlap. 

Or should I just leave the sky and leave writing and just listen to the notes of Ishaa Azan oozing from the speakers of some distant mosque which in a cruel way made the environment sad. Solitary subdued azans have a knack of doing so. May be it was an aazan from a mosque in some far off village .I like linking things to the village because it gives me a hope, a hops that I am not the only one missing it in me, it also knows that I have litte to no chance to rejoice , so it keeps sending me the scent of its presence.  It is keeping me alive , alive to suffer more pain?, a revenge to the betrayal I committed?....

 Or should I write about the soft breeze hustling past my ears by slightly blowing the hair off my face, giving the ultimate pleasure of a fragile touch.For a hijabi to have a moment of hair filling with breeze is something more special. Or should I talk about the moon whose absence filled my heart with emptiness. How good would it be if it were there, how perfect the situation could have been. But did it sacrifice its grand appearance to bestow a pitch dark night so those stars may show their glow. Or did it just think the world would be fine without it......