We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place. At every noose and corner we find there's always some trace. The fragrance lingers Imprints of fingers The leftovers of our dreams The Echoes of our screams. The warmth of the embraces The expression on faces. Memories dance like leaves caught in tornado The moments which you just can't forgo. Corners highlight where you hid in guilt. Teardrops accumulate like silt. Restless moments when your heart bled can be imagined with creases on bed. No matter how much and where you roam Your only solace is when you return to home.
I have tried to compare vase with love here. Love is called sacred and antique, and is said to hold Priceless auras. But the very reality is that Love is a bittersweet feeling, a coffee bean in a meal for a lifetime. It is all broken at the end with sharp ends of sorrows piercing every fragment of yours. Love has lost it vibes as a dandelion to the wind these days. ~say_me_krish
P.S: I have not used even a single unnecessary space to keep the shape intact, and so I'm happy :D
I have always thought that in reality when you have a book in your hands, the book is the one that reads to you, and not the opposite as we think. Hence comes from being widely read. The more books they read to you, the more you read. ⠀ . Follow our instagram page for more illustrations.