Harry Potter

My laptop sits silently at the foot of my bed, my iPhone was tossed sloppily on top of stacks of magazines, which were never read since they arrived. The Wii, which I had so passionately fancied playing RE4, DDR, and GH3 is scrambled at the corner of the living room, motionless, with the Wii-mote and Numchucks laying lifeless next to it. The room is dim, filled with the mere sunlight of dusk sipped in through the window. The courtyard presents with a post-war scent of darkness, the untouchable chill flow around the air, none can prevent the thought of the ghosts awaiting at the shading corners. The bikes I bought months ago sitting at the backyard, grieving for the rusts that started to grow all over it.

And where am I? I have been reading Harry Potter, all seven of them since my dear wife gave me a set for my birthday in September.