Old habits die hard. And old memories even harder. It wasn't voluntarily that I left my second home, The Writers Lounge, last year.. but that's irrelevant now. From the first time I wrote here, from the first friend I had to the anticipation of rain in the winter, all stay clearly in my head.
People Friends I met here have changed, they've gone on to better things in life. Some have remained close, some slowly drifted apart, though I don't want them to. I don't want to say by names who all are part of this gang, who I've had the pleasure of meeting, of fighting with, sharing a pizza or a coffee just that once. Such friends are keeps for life. I've changed my first home, and watched from a distance as my second began to die. Homes die only when they are not taken care of. I've been asked back before, but I've not felt the need to come back till now. I've been trying to pen down something better than this small paragraph, for marking my return here. All I can manage is this. Leo is back at the lounge, don't know how, don't know till when, don't know why. To me, all those questions bear no meaning any more.