Old days are always precious. They become so just by becoming old and impossible to access again other than living them in your head. We miss the old days. The aroma of the days gone-by lingers on with our soul. We miss the people we have met, the people we have lost along the path. I miss all this too. I miss my foolish self. I miss the mistakes and the moments in which I did them. Sometimes they look like a dream or a fantasy. One trigger and all that comes back haunting again. Only if we could ever fly back and relive them. Only if somehow. Only if.
Published by Aamir Bilal