And what happened a hundred or so years after.
I miss it, you know. The bus rides and the girl with the liquid eyes and the perfume talk and clove, oh sweet clove. Daily gulab jamuns and shared plates and exam preparation and small talk and big talk and laughter. So much laughter. Riviera and seedha jaana right se. Anger and sadness, but above all, memories.
Everyone told me it was hard to make friends after one grows up. Here's to you suckers.
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1 comment:
Sometimes (very very rarely) I wish you would not write stuff down.
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