A nostalgia so soft –
It’s an uninvited memory that creep in –
Not the sharp stabs but those soft warmth.
Like the quiet mornings when dad would feed me breakfast before school, He’d slip socks onto my feet like I was still too little to do it myself. Amma, packing breakfast and lunch at 7.15 exactly every morning and doing my hair while Appa got ready to drop me off.
I realise it’s 4.30 when i hear my dad’s bike sound at the school gate and “Tough guy”(Appa) patiently waiting to pick me.
I didn’t know the worth of those routines then. I was just in them — living inside a bubble of normalcy that now feels golden. And for a second, everything paused. The past wasn’t a memory — it was real, breathing, present.
As like it,I do remember those memories in college that gets into the plate of nostalgia
The echoes of laughter in corridors and at the back of auditorium.
shared food, last-minute notes, and the easy feeling of belonging somewhere.
My parents and those few people i met – they’ve been everything good and flawed. They hurt me at times, shut down parts of me I was just beginning to love.
Many times it felt like – Lived more for society’s gaze than for myself But still — when I rewind the reel,
I don’t carry those bruises with me.
I carry the love.
I carry the warmth of early mornings.
Every single time, I remember people in the softest light — not because they were always kind
But because I have seen and will see them through the eyes of love, may not be too close but at the safest boundaries.
Welcome.