(Written April 2001, at age 14.)
I was staring outside the window
As the train swayed in awkward movements.
Through the pitter-pattering drops on the window
I saw ever-stretching fields, dotted with trees,
Just like the hands of friendship were in the land I have left and come,
Dotted with the certain black moments of a relationship.
A fight, a misunderstanding.
But the dots created hardly a speck on the strength of the friendship.
Just like the memories of a place that was heaven for me,
Not because of the place that it was, but because of the people it had for me.
Because of how important those people are and will be to me.
Yes, heaven it was.
A heaven no other place, however beautiful, can ever create again.
As each drop fell on the window,
It collected other drops and flowed down the screen
Creating a stream on the window,
The mark of which remained after so many other drops fell on it.
People came into my life, who helped me become me.
Their mark shall always remain on my heart.
And then I realised.
The skies were crying for me.