When you were five you said:
“I want to go back to India.”
At seven, you started teaching me things.
At nine, you found friends that weren’t really yours.
At eleven, we shared our memories on the monkey bars.
At 13, you told me that I was too young to understand the things of the world.
Crushed, my memories stayed preserved in my mind…
…I wondered if you’d ever be the same on your fifteenth.
You’re sixteen now, oblivious and unaware. Does your birthday mean nothing now to you anymore?
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