I have always had changes in my life. People did come and go all the time. But I don’t know why each separation hurts so much. I always had new friends. But every novel change manages to surprise me as much as the previous ones did. I wanted to live my life in moments… in snippets of smiles…in scraps of honey drops. So that even if memories fade, the oddments of flashes stays back….somewhere…intimately guarded. But all such memoirs don’t really bring smiles anymore….because the people who had brought about them have all changed by now. Will learn to live with them soon. I do feel trapped at times. I feel I’m just playing a character from any of the books I’ve read long ago. The story is forgotten but the plot seems familiar. I’m being dragged on to things and then left just there to fight back alone, without arms, without help. I am trapped within the pages of one of the books collecting dust in the book shelf of the cupboard that is never opened. The smell of old pages and damp romance suffocates at times. Once this obscurity fades, my story will start again….soggy spirits of forgotten heroes will rise, and I’ll know the end of my story by then. Even if moments can’t be cherished anymore,thoughts of happy endings are still treasured today.