I have a friend. A very good friend.
We have dreams. Very different dreams.
She wants to fly again. I want to wear my ghungroos again.
She wants the sky. I want the earth.
We both tasted our dreams.
And just like the Gopis who couldn’t tear themselves away once they heard Krishna playing his bansuri, our dreams keep calling out to us.
The call of the flute. The call of the dream.
I am holding on to my dream. Because seeing her holding on to hers keeps me going.


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