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“As memories flower, it means, they have carried something of the times we once had; that they have carried the nights when I saw stars in your eyes: that they have carried the days when I saw the sea dancing in your soul; that those flowers of memories carried the seeds of who I was to you or who you were to me. And though eons have passed between then and now, somewhere, somehow, the whispers we made from the hearts, still drift in the winds; it means, not all things die but float as songs, in the evening breeze.” — Jayita Bhattacharjee
As memories flower, it means, they have carried something of the times we once had; that they have carried the nights when I saw stars in your eyes: that they have carried the days when I saw the sea dancing in your soul; that those flowers of memories carried the seeds of who I was to you or who you were to me. And though eons have passed between then and now, somewhere, somehow, the whispers we made from the hearts, still drift in the winds; it means, not all things die but float as songs, in the evening breeze.