3rd wing something

You know when you listen to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes by so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway...then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again, you're still in the exact same time with it. That's what friendship is like.

(Quoted by some bloke on his gtalk status message….)

I miss some people,
I miss some days.
I miss those curses we shed on each other,
I miss those dark alleys, the ones we lighted with our cigarettes,
I miss some punches,
I miss some girls, who never turned twice,
I miss good old wickedness, as light as forever,
I miss those stupid cravings to mess around,
I miss those walks to the tea-shop, where conversations never mattered,
I miss some photographs,
I miss some colored festivals, those with mud flying all over,
I miss the dirty ragged bed, and its companion, the creaking ceiling fan,
I miss some annoying, some pleasing, some arbitrary, some just plain pain in the ass,
I miss a guitar, drums, a mic and a bass guitar,
I miss some summers, plain t-shirts and jeans,
I miss my heart,
I miss myself,
I miss the devil,
In the end, I miss my third wing; this angel could never have flown away without his third wing.
I miss some people,
I miss some days.

For the corridor called third wing of Godavari hostel. A place where I spent only two years, but ended up learning to fly, ended up being comfortably numb, ended up exploring the dark side of the moon…..and now, wish you were here……

Was listening to: “Anuva’s Sky” by Blackstratblues. 3rd July. 2 a.m.