Scars will fade and friends will be lost. Clothes of today wil go behind in the closed replaced by the new ones. Then one day, I’ll reach inside and find the old shirt and say, “hey, this is my shirt wearing which i was beaten up by my friends after my placement” and not “hey, this is the shirt in which i got placed”.
will i be happy then because ill have the shirt or will i be sad because I’ll not be here then, i don’t know. Well it doesn’t matter, what matters is that I’ll have that shirt, that broken mouth organ on which I used to play on-demand songs in the silence of the night hostel, the stringless guitar which I was never able to learn, the over-scribbled diary that i used to write in the yellow light of the streetbulb just in front of my balcony, the pen with which I drew crude faces and played knots and crosses with myslef on my gate exam rough sheets.