One year. Ago.
Today.
Last year.
Ask Tony, he knows.
Tony from West Delhi. At the airport. One last glimpse. But he’d already turned away.
“I’ve found Tony. I’m late. But he says I’ll make it.”
Tony says he’ll make it. Tony’s found. I’m lost.
Tony can’t help me find what I’ve lost.
Hell Tony doesn’t even know who I am.
Tony.
Such a stupid name.
But family is family is family.
Lost. And. I’m waiting.
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5 comments:
omg I looked on my world map and saw a little airport symbol by delhi, perhaps its the one you wrote of
What's lost should sometimes stay lost. Because it's never the same thing if it's found again.
Ever.
Your awesome post suddenly made me hungry. Strange.
Ditty Sweetie [i love how that sounds] 'tis the same. Delhi airport. nasty place.
Lizza: Y'know sis, you're probably right. No you are. About what's lost.
But.
What's stranger than you getting hungry over this post is that I was actually writing about my favourite snack as you posted this comment. bizarre. plain weird.
You sure it's not Ricky? =)
Farkin’ HELL HB! How’d I know [I JUST KNEW] you’d say that!!???
I’ll tell you how I know. ‘Cause at the back of my mind, your Ricky’s non-face flashed in neon, and for a moment [a long moment, till right now] I actually thought his name was Tony too!
So to answer your question, ummm, not sure really. Could’ve been who knows? And WHO DA FARK CARES?!
I’m grinning now. Thankeeee.
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