You go from one place to another to free yourself from wearisome schedules and reasons to not hear the calling , stepping out from the confinements, which exist only until you realize that there weren’t any. Breaking the walls stifled by the fumes of burning clocks and deafening tick-tick of the time, you stuff your bag with hopes of finding a part of you in a place that awaits you and leaving behind another as a souvenir, when you only know it like a tune you heard from a distance.
The sun, even though of the same sky looks different, and so does everything else. The usual becomes unusual. A gentle stroke of the wind takes away the heaviness you had carried for long. A step on the soil turns into a memory in the heart. Unspoken words write themselves down on the smile on your face. A song at the shore, a little dance on the side of the road.
The place makes you feel more like a friend than a friend who always pretend to know you. And one day you, that place becomes an experience you waited long to live.
A journey turned into an adventure.
Never having an idea about how much of a place you will carry with yourself, you get ready to rove around another. Nostalgia for that place follows you wherever you go, and you relent in the intricate loneliness while remembering every bit of the life you lived then and there; the kind of loneliness one feels being among the people who know you as much as a man assert to know God.
While you continue to whirl in the eddy of memories, the same place embraces another wanderer in its warmth.
– Kritika Vashist