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Missing Out

I’m missing out on the hot April sun of Bombay burning my skin.

I’m missing out on the cool breeze under the huge banyan tree of a random city park.

I’m missing out on the sunsets by the beach and watching little kids see the expanse of the ocean for the first time.

I’m missing out on being out late at night and looking at the moon as it follows me home.

I’m missing out on the texts that my friends send me when I’ve not reached home yet, “Tell me when you reach home?” / “Did you get the train?” / “Where did you reach?”

I’m missing out on being rebellious and reaching home late making my mom equally worried and angry.

I’m missing out on first dates and then asking friends to create a fake emergency to bail out.

I’m missing out on listening to music while riding a late Mumbai local and staring at people on the train and wonder how did their day go?

I’m missing out on talking to those random people on the trains and sometimes share the most happiest and saddest moments.

I’m missing out on everything that used to happen that made life life.

I’m missing out on life.

I’m missing out.

I’m missing.

Missing.

image from pexels


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