There's always something new that just pops out of nowhere everytime you take a stroll down these lanes. And just like you get to know a person, you discover new details. Its like these streets have an identity of their own, expressing themselves through these evergrowing works of art, to be replaced later by new ones. And much like a person, they become the whole of its individual parts. That rustic church looming large, the cafe in the corner with beautiful flowers, that deserted red house with creepers, the iron grills over the windows, the fresh bright paint and those little blue painting of a person with a cap. Or is it the kids that play football every evening over the mosaic tiling, or that lady in the gaddo selling cutlet pav that makes it whole?
Perhaps it was always there the entire time and you simply failed to notice it just as the thousands of people you've met , whose superficial wall of insecurities you chose to not see beyond.
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