It has been a year since I published this post. Sometimes when I go through my old works, I realize with a pang of certainty how much I have changed, over the years.
Some other times, I am pleasantly surprised, and can even think, “Did I really write this?” Looking over this post from last year was one such moment. I don’t think, even after a period of 365 days, I would change much, except maybe a verb or two.
She takes a deep breath and inhales the salty wet smell of the ocean. The breeze lifts her hair and it flows behind her like a veil. She screams – a sound of pure, unrestrained joy! She is 18, and Life stretches in front of her like an ocean of promises.
She is 42 looking at a faded photograph. The walls of her house in the suburbs suffocates her, like a caged canary, who forgot how to sing. In the photoframes on the mantelpiece she searches for an innocent, carefree teenager; eyes brimming with wistful dreams. She sees a dutiful wife and a doting mother. In the mirror she meets the disillusioned eyes of a middle-aged woman.
The king-sized bed with its satin duvet is too soft for her – she longs for the granular sandy ground under the nylon sleeping bag. In the sparkle of the chandelier she searches…
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