This evening was a double decker bus, I went up the deck. Four seats ahead were a couple, cootchie-cooing violently, three rows behind me were two school brats, extra-energised after hours in class screaming and screeching over some electronic game. I sat looking at the raindrops on my window. With every falling drop, it was growing foggier. The lush green poking its arms into the view of my reminiscences, I figured those face which I had forgotten. I still don't remember what she looked like, what they all looked like. A wheelchair, a play-room, a doll house, a huge swing, the sand below it, a rocking horse, those windows...
- Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep
- And can't tell where to find them.
- Leave them alone, And they'll come home,
- Wagging their tails behind them
They didn't come back, they don't come back.
Standard V. Yellow walls and tin thatched roof. We repainted the carrots and apples on the cardboard, we learnt the vitamins. Do you still live at the end of the lane?
I will go there to find you. How many daffodils have bloomed since?
The yellow is gone, the thatched roof isn't there. There stands a dungeon of bricks, blue light streams in from the roof, ther aren't too many left whom I know, there are still lesser those who would remember.
A thin face, a nasal screech. Oh! I made so much fun of her. There were no reasons, I was just too happening then, and I didn't want the happenings leave me. But, she fought me, she fought for me, she taught me to walk like a girl, she asked me to comb my hair. She stood up when I was in utter teenage despair of being deliberately unheard in the ghetto of the influential.
Thay are all gone. Some I can search for, some I can email, some about whom I can just think and sigh.
All lost in the maze of memory, faceless, moments frozen in time.
