Yesterday I heard an old memory. Words I had penned years ago, words that made me happy, sad, claustrophobic and nostalgic…

Over the years some of the words had changed, some remained untouched; frozen in time. As each sentence hit my ears, I distinctly remember the moment I wrote them. I remembered the context, the goal, the tone with which they were written. I remembered the people and the events that inspired those words.

Over the years the people have changed, their attributes that were the building blocks of the characters I created have all but faded away. But somewhere in those characters there is still a small fingerprint of the original inspiration.

I have always had a paternal relationship with my writings. No matter how popular or unknown a piece of writing was, I have always held it close to my heart. There are moments of my life, my imaginations, my aspirations hidden somewhere deep in the lines I write. Reading(or listening to) those sentences is like looking at a picture, but there is so much encapsulated in those lines that no picture can ever capture that.

In all those memories flooding into my brain there was this sense of awe that I felt. It was a realization of how I have changed. I fear I might never be able to write like that ever again… But thats what makes those lines so much more special.