mirage

The sepia memories, flood inside the head, of a life filtered and pure. Of a child washing his hands in cold water in the scorching heat. Of school and homework and punishment. Of laughter and first crush. Of cousins and summer holidays. Of ideals and dreams. Of ambitions and planning. Of small achievements and big talks. Hmmm why do these memories keep recurring sometimes as dreams and sometimes as a longing? A dream that can never be true again and a desire that cannot be satisfied.