By Paridhi Puri
They’ve predicted a torrential downpour of loneliness today – the television guy said it will rain cats and dogs over the balcony of the lone house that has wept in silence since you left town. I hear commotion outside the garage – there’s a queue of ghosts waiting on the sidewalks to lay claim to the memories you once planted in this behemoth of a town. The city is ruthless. it auctions every piece of you to the highest bidder – until your soul splinters beyond recognition. It still hurt when you said you couldn’t recognize me. The garage sale is going well – we actually made a profit, believe it or not. The streetlights have come alive now – they’re waving to the shadows that once used to be ours. I’m still waiting for the rain to clear the dust and damage away. It hasn’t rained since the day you left, and my heart is heavy. We’ve sold everything we once had, and the weight is still intact.
Paridhi Puri is a student and writer based in New Delhi. A scholarship recipient at University of Iowa's International Writing Program, she's worked as the Head of Events and Collaborations at Ayaskala in the past. Her passion lies in the close observation of pop culture, politics, art and literature - you can find her skipping paywalls of articles, and talking about the ghost stories in her family.
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