Every spring reminds me of the time in school when the tree outside my window started sprouting scarlet flowers, and it was examtime, and always always a bunch of new books from the book fair lying around tempting me to run to the bathroom, sit on the pot for ages and read, read. Or that time when the chhaad in Bijoygarh was ideal for daydreaming, and the cuckoos used to go crazy singing to the tunes inside our heads.
And then stolen hojmi and kaancha aam from Shreo's neighbour, and staying at her house for weeks, and giggling at night over a crush on a class six senior.
Now, there are only memories, and a tremendous sadness tugs at my throat, and I know the world's all fucked up, it's all strange.
And then stolen hojmi and kaancha aam from Shreo's neighbour, and staying at her house for weeks, and giggling at night over a crush on a class six senior.
Now, there are only memories, and a tremendous sadness tugs at my throat, and I know the world's all fucked up, it's all strange.
2 comments:
i know!
the one good thing about childhood was its simplicity.
springs will only be about season changes and coughing our guts outs and never picking up flowers and putting them in our hair :(
growing up is way overrated.
*guts out
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