Someone spells me out of scribbled letters,
The blotted papers of yellowing memories
Cringe in an autumn humid afternoon.
I hear my name, I hear the clink of words in abstraction,
I nod in despair: Twice.
A sea of memories plunge out of those yellowing letters.
I pull my scarf out in the wind,
It's fragrance makes my heart flutter
I tie it in loops over my head
Concealed and secure
I let loose those blotted papers
Those ink stained letters do know
Who I am, don't they?
The one thing that I always had dreamt of as a kid was to have a caravan that could take me to places.I always wanted a gypsy styled life. The idea itself mesmerized me to the extent that I kept dreaming of it the whole time not even realising how it was time which kept on rolling but I stood exactly at the same place, my dreams could never concretize. What was laughed at as a childish game was so important to me that I keep doodling it in my memory till now. I see a meadow, lush green with those small daffodils growing by, perhaps Wordsworth's daffodils! Then I see a girl, her wild unkept hair sailing in the gentle breeze. She has a smile which speaks of solitude, and her heart , well that's swelling with happiness as he looks at her caravan, after all she finally has a life on wheels. What more could she wish for, what more can anyone wish for? It's not always that we get to live a life we conceived as a kid, life keeps on deciding our track. From what we liked doing...
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