The little piece of plastic rolled out on the floor as the fridge got packed. I watched it in amazement ! How much we had searched and blamed each other the day we lost it and our game became useless. And here it had been, all along, under the fridge.
The lost pencils, toys, socks all made their grand appearances as I packed up my household. Each bit had memories attached, each piece told a story.
They say, to be attached to things, is a materialistic way of life. Maybe it is. But I am attached to the life I have lived in those things. I am attached to the curtain rod my lil one brought crashing down on my head, I am attached to the cracked cup with polka dots which my elder one drank his first tea in.
The wall on which we lovingly measured our kids' heights will be repainted soon. The stubborn drip drip of the kitchen tap will never disturb me again...
The torn crayon drawing hangs listlessly as we lock the doors to some awesome memories. As we move away, finally, we say bye bye to a host of images. My lil kids' shadows wave at me as my grown up kids help me load the luggage in the car.
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