I left a bookmark there, on page number 102. And few ages hence, I resume, from where I left, after dusting the book, page 102. The pages bleached, print lighter. The text unchanged, unlike the reader. After ages, I picked up from where I left. But through these ages, I picked me up from what people left of me, when they left. Who knew a bookmark was meant to be the one constant, while everything around changed? Bookmarks, wallflowers, coffee cups... what it takes to stay when the world doesn't? Changed around, changed within. Craving for a constant? #change #left #bookmark
