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“Memories of the past are strewn like shards of glass, sometimes, lost in the mist, a distant blur, yet alive. You walk through them, picking them up one by one, weaving them into stories, and that's all that remains.” — Jayita Bhattacharjee
Memories of the past are strewn like shards of glass, sometimes, lost in the mist, a distant blur, yet alive. You walk through them, picking them up one by one, weaving them into stories, and that's all that remains.