“I Can’t breathe properly” I complained to my father. My skin itching and burning red, rashes developing on my entire body. It was the day I was supposed to travel, meant to travel back to the city where it all began.
“You want to visit a doctor? You can postpone your trip…” he suggested.
“No!” I denied. After all, I couldn’t afford to do that. To miss the chance of breathing that nostalgia, to travel that distorted path from where it all began. The place where I lived it and saw it all. The isle of friendship, the sense of independence, the ilm of freedom, the irony of love, the glee of betrayal, the mending of heartbreak, unwarranted awards, levying probation… name it and it’s there.
Studies? Scored it all.
Attendance? Always short, yet never less.
Yes, a lifetime of stories and experiences, seen it all, yet revealed nothing.
…
My father looked at me with a curious set of eyes. Said nothing. He must have had his own experiences after all. Some cherished memories of his own.
***
Butterflies flapping in my stomach. Nostalgia struck hard. I somehow made it to the train.
I could barely sleep, maybe the medicines were playing their games. Not the thoughts of the place where I lived a chunk of my life, where I survived and succeeded. The memories flashed by, let’s not blame the memories shall we.
As I laid back, the thoughts provoked me. The familiar faces won’t be there to greet me, and why shall they? The memories won’t be re-lived, and why should it be? Yet it intrigued me. The path that led to the destination, a sense of belongingness.
As moisture escaped my pupils. “The humidity might have caught up with my eyes” I thought, rubbing my eyes with barren fingers.
It’s a strange sight, a dizzy thought, walking down the memory lane. A place full of hallucinations, illusions. A tangible sensation, something that’s left to be explored. It all begins anew from where it ended.
Maybe the chapter isn’t over yet, maybe it’ll never be.
“sigh” maybe escaping it would have been better.
-boringbug
boringbug.com 
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