a little pile of goodbyes

sitting here... on this bed ive called home for the last twenty months or so.. and i see bare walls where memories hung.. and empty tables and shelves where identities were stacked in particular orders... lots of packed boxes and packets.. string tied and brown tape tight.. a life packed into a little heap of luggage...things bought things borrowed things stolen and things thought lost... all in a little pile of goodbyes...

leaves u a certain emptiness.. no matter how much ive been wanting to leave.. now that i finally am.. it does prick a little.. a little uneasiness.. this itch in the throat that isnt harmful but does keep cuming up every once in a while... my only sense of reality and entertainment remains here under my fingers.. as i type away another chapter not of this blog.. but of my life.. as is meant to be.. as i move on to bigger brighter memories.. experience the sense of loss.. not of places.. and familiarities but of people.. people met and people not met enough.. people loved and people not loved honestly.. people forgotten.. and people who i wish i could forget.. but cant... people people people.. isnt life a series of associations.. places and priorities yes.. but mostly people.. on a string i tirade the phantasmagoria of these people.. like running through your phonebook and sending those.. hey long time kiddo.. whats the scene messages every once in a while in a desperate attempt to hold onto associations as you skip places and cities and jobs and priorities and time time time always gnawing away at all of these.. clawing and trying so hard to hold onto some semblance of reality of what was what is and what will be...

the wheel of time turns and the ages come and pass
until memory fades to legend, legend to myth and even myth is long forgotten
when the age that gave its birth comes again...
in an age yet to come.. an age long past..*

i sigh.. a long sigh of goodbye to my soulful mumbai...

*cf: The Eye of The World, Book 1 - The Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan