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I stepped into the room.
 It smelt familiar.
 The curtains were the same.
 Bright sunlight beaming through them.
 The floor still sparkled.
 I opened the cupboard.
 My things were shabbily stacked in a corner.
 As if someone wanted me out of the way.
 I sighed.
 Closing the cupboard, I found my table missing.
 Replaced by a more glamorous piece of furniture.
I decided it was wiser to move somewhere else.
But again, wasn’t it my place?
It truly is.
The window sill sports my coffee mug stains.
The walls still bear my pencil marks.
The same songs play in my mind.
I belong to this place.
And the place, indeed, missed me.

Courtesy: Google


Chocolate Lover said…
Beautiful written. (: <3
Red Handed said…
reminds me of moving out of the home i grew up in!!! beautiful lines :)
Me said…
I could recall, how when I came back home after 2 years and everything that was once mine, was just indifferent to me.

Beautifully written.

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Maybe when I walked alone, smiling to myself. 
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Had it been always like this ?

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Things clicked, took effort and blood. 
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The eyes searched someone. The one she could run to at times of need. In someone’s lap, she would pour out all her troubles.
Nobody came.  She grew up, rimmed her eyes with kohl. But they could never hide her tears.
No one came when her soul was ripped apart. No one heard her cries. No one mourned her loss.
After  a while, she thought that tears were a part of the eyes.