My City. She's like my ex-girlfriend. Howsoever much she's hurt me, however much we have been there, done that, however she might have shattered me into pieces at times, and did'nt let me go beyond the boundaries of expected realizations; I just cannot move on. I still cannot get over the silly bits of comfort and the familiar imperfections, that make her mine. My joy. My City.
...the same bits of chayer bhar still go into my mouth, with the hot, over-sweetened tea and the warm, corrosive smoke of regular-sized cigarettes; beside the same doorsteps by the Academy canteen; where two souls can only sit together if they are in love, or one has to stand.