It's been a while I've seen the morning. I don't miss the moist sunlight through the leaves. I don't miss Pink Floyd or Kishore Kumar in the breeze coming through the cobwebs of my open window. I don't miss my putting an old and dirty bed sheet to cover the light coming through. I don't miss having an omelette and puff after that. I miss sleeping after that.
Why do I smile when I am out in the scorching sun? Why do I want to cover my face with a slim notebook when I don't have any? Why do I keep scribbling in the notepad? Why do I want to look hazy when I can be attentive?
I don't miss my small biscuit packets bought in night for the night, which were left unopened. I miss hiding them from others. I don't miss my past. I miss the trick to hide it.
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