Once again I saw the reddish orange hues of sunset from my window. The same window from where I had viewed the same sunset, yet it feels so different today. The dust mites on the window sill are sticking to my fingers in a reassuring way. This view reminds me of the person I was before. Before I was engulfed into society’s norms. That wild girl in me yawns in her deep slumber, just reminding me of her existence somewhere deep down beneath many layers of grief and heartache and memories, where she was buried carefully. That person is just a memory sometimes, albeit a beautiful one. The sunset made me full of warm mushy feelings and hope and all those cheesy cliches. Today, I feel nothing. In fact, sunsets are reminders to fold the clothes, take a shower and do mundane household chores. Gone are the days when the setting sun reminded me of stolen glances, love filled conversations, all the butterflies in the stomach, gossips with roommates, and evening walks with my best friends. When I close my eyes I can still smell the fresh grass in our college grounds and the laughter in the background. Maybe this is how we grow old. Things that once mattered the most seems ordinary now. Definitely growing old.
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