Please don’t keep wondering which song this is… or you will make me sad. This one https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saH2Shlup1Q
Listening to it since morning in here. In here it’s a small world. In here I get to smile without anybody noticing. In here I can shed a tear or two without anyone listening. In here it’s all my space.
I am in here. I don’t know how much of it is me. I don’t think if at all it defines me or I define it. I don’t know how much I belong in here if at all. But this feels home. Like there are rains and dark clouds and chilled wind outside and in here there is a lantern or a stove – a small one. And I have earned enough in the day’s labor to make me a small tea. May be not enough milk but that’s ok. May be not enough sugar but that’s okay too. I like my tea. I like holding it in my hands. I like the warmth in here… ‘gungunahat’ I don’t know if warmth is the right word for this.
It wasn’t always the same in here. There were times with broken roofs. There were times when I had a window broken and times when I was a wall short of four. There were times when I cried so hard that people passing by could hear. It has taken time in sewing itself. It has taken it’s time in here with the walls and roof. Some things I did. Some things it did for me. And we have come to make it – to be this. This place in here. This place I am starting to find home. This place I am starting to call mine.
There are bad days. But there are okay days too. And then in bad days I have a lantern in here – yeah the same one I talked about. I have grown to live with the winds may be. Or this place in here has learnt to protect me better. Which one of the two – I don’t care. In here I don’t care to know the reasons. In here unanswered questions look like magic. In here things are simple. In here I feel good.
It’s not left much. The roof will go down in the next rain. The door hinges are gone. It will break with a strong wind. I know. I can see. I fix a hinge or two sometimes. I try to save it. I try to preserve. I can’t. But I try. I don’t want to let go. As if it’s me. As if it defines me. As if I belong… in here.
The Colored Pane 