Musings/Opinionated Articles

What are pictures for? (This is my most precious but a heartbreaking one)

Yes, this is that picture.
It has 4 books at least with a tear-soaked page; 35 at least with scribbles (insights, thoughts or emotions) here and there; 5 of these were gifts and yes, it has my first guitar, too.

How can I forget the day when I first strummed the strings of my guitar, and my whole room started vibrating to its melodious tune? Or, the first time I played a sad melody because I got rejected in an interview; how can I ever forget those moments?

One of these books was a reward for securing the first rank in 9th class. My first time, ever.
For a kid who got ridiculed throughout his primary school for low grades, that moment was precious.

And, Do you love books?
Do you smell them after purchasing them?
Do you enjoy seeing them on your shelf with your scribbles, smudges, and emotions?

Because if you do, you would understand what it means.

And yet, when the black monster engulfed my home on that beautiful day, I could do nothing to save them.

It was heartbreaking.
I couldn’t believe the pages I devoured, the pages who were my companion, were lying there, covered with black smudges left by the monster. He left his marks everywhere.

And the guitar, he chewed it and threw it away like a toothpick.
You know, there were exactly 5 little scratches on my guitar. I even know the places on its body it got hurt because of my negligence and one accident.

But still when I saw it lying in the debris, I just touched it once, said thanks and looked for the things that weren’t destroyed.

Yeah, I didn’t cry as the black monster couldn’t get through my feelings. They were still alive, and it made me realise one of the most beautiful lessons of my life.

That it’s not the things that matter but how they make you feel. And that feeling was so genuine that I could touch their remanents and felt gratitude for filling my life with colours.

Today, I saw this pic again in my Facebook timeline, and I’m glad that I clicked it. As that’s what pictures are for.

Not for Instagram likes, but for teleporting you to those memories you lived with the things or people or places inside them.

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