I love our shared memories of a cement tank with a wad of cloth holding the water in. A badam tree’s bounty of green fruit splattering blood like stains as they fall from its high grasp. Grandparents spinning stories that have helped us weave our todays. A love for those days of rooftop to rooftop jumps and food cooked with the energy of the universe coursing thru an old body. Cracking walls in a musty room with thoughts hanging like cobwebs, whispering and beckoning young souls into a time warp.