The station we departed at, had an arrivals at the other end of its edge. Did we promise to meet at the arrivals?? If not, where shall we meet??

There were times we had dreamt of a house near countryside when age would allow us to settle down. I remember painting a canvas where we had cherish the age with the kids playing at a yonder. The dreams of youth, paints of slumber and graves of aged. 

The time is floating, age is settling in. I wonder if it’s the time we should find each other again. Embrace that solace I find in your arms. Smell that Earth, I seek in your presence. 

I remember, a promise to meet at a juncture. But it’s faded, where shall we meet ? 

The visuals are still afresh, and the words lost in the noise of world. Perhaps this is what they call aging. When vocals are no more required and the visuals are enough for survival till final departure. 

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