Pictures are time machines, teleporting us to trance. All pictures are happy pictures. We tend to capture good memories.
My father hoards photographs.
When he looks back, he says he can see the dark red bangles slide on my mother's silky skin. She loves skin care, till date.
He could hear the clinking sound of my payal in a dance competition picture. I won the first prize. It was special.
He laughed a lot, the day my cousin sister dressed cousin brother like a barbie. He looked adorable in frocks. Still can.
He remembers how his mother fed him, when he'd study. She'd fed me too. I think she wanted us to be full at all times.
His father forced him to learn the entire dictionary to improve his vocabulary. No wonder, I am bewildered when he talks.
His first day in office, changed him as a person. He heads it now. He has come so far.
He cried when pushed in the pool, by his best friend. I don't think there's a single hotel he goes to without a pool, now.
He always overcame fear, noticed simplicity, learnt about life, felt warmth, laughed, cried and loved.
My father has captured these beautiful memories and has preserved them in his soul.
I've shapeshifted from a teenager to not one. My father says I've changed a lot. I think it's true.
I appreciate life more. I try being kind and sweet.
I have been collecting my set of sweet memories.
I think I have changed, a lot.
I wish I could tell my dad, I think I'm turning into a version of him.
Picture credits: @lisaloffredo_
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