Once my father bought me a balloon and I clutched it firmly. Amidst the festivities all around, my fist loosened up. The balloon kept going high up till I saw the last glimpse of that red dot through my watery eyes. I wouldn’t do with the replacement balloon my father got, I wanted the same one. And the longing began. Time replaced the balloon with situations, opportunities, the misty mountains and a lost grandfather. A variance of longings alike the various fears gripped me. I understood that the ultimate fear is that of death and rest all are the variations of it but then what about the longing?

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