Dream me a paradise.

Growing up, in the last 7 years has been a dichotomy.

There's a part that lived in a single room in hostels across this country, alone. Surviving and persisting.

There's the other part that found home in the strangest of places, mostly people.

This part traveled, and saw that they're all alone.

Kept it's head on the shoulders of people who could've otherwise never been known.

Danced in bonfires, in the mountains while they silently fell in love.

Smoked in strangest corners with better conversations than those across the table.

Painted those walls of new homes in each of those places, with colors of memories.

Each painting turned out to be a memoir of times left behind.

Behind? That backpack has it all, those places will always smell of those memories.

Music became teleportation, to times of love, loss and happiness.

That cup of coffee, not breaking itself across the years smells of spilled love.

Could I have done it any other way round? I don't think so.

There's more love than I could've ever thought.

I'm taking it all.

Across the times to come, when maybe it'll seem like its not enough.

I doubt if what'll seem will be true.

There's more of it than anything else.

This is more than just a thankyou, for the memories.

thank you, Bhumika B. Photography