Exhausted and worn  out,

all I can think of is sleep.

I rest my head against the frail glass window,

an occasional thud; when the bus screeches and brakes.

I stare at the lights outside and wonder how fast the world moves.

The chatter on the radio comes to a stop and a sweet melody strikes the air.

I lean on the window and start humming along…

Another light lingering tune effortlessly mixes in the air…mingling with my carcass humming and suddenly my tune doesn’t sound so offbeat.

His voice silvery coarse – my voice faintly melodic.

I don’t turn.

The lights outside don’t appear sad anymore.



It is beautiful how people fall in love with places. They spend their lives living, breathing in different cities. Their job takes them places. They have busy monotonous routines and a set way of life yet somehow they come to develop a strange kind of sweet feeling for the place they belong to. With time as opportunities hit by, people may move away from their home towns but their roots still draw back to the same old forgotten lanes of their childhood. The sweet old days of innocence.


Not long ago, I was travelling with a friend of mine. We were on a bus to my hometown. On our way, we passed through a town where she previously lived and she began narrating about her days there. Relating to every little section we crossed by and while listening to her stories I could not help but notice, the way her eyes sparkled. I could see how fond she was of that little town and I realized that I pretty much feel the same way about my town. I guess that is how it is. The places we grow up in, occupy a special place in our hearts. Just like we fall in love with people, so we do with places.