Zing.base.eth π΅π©
@zinz
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The first time I traveled abroad, my family's and friends' sobs of farewell surrounded me. The second time, a friend bid me goodbye until I left. The third time, I just grabbed my suitcase and walked alone, like a leaf blown by the wind through a dusty alley. No one was there to see me off.
The second story -as told to me by a close friend-:
Forty days after my son's death, we were at home, our hearts filled with immense grief. On day 80, we gathered and spoke much, yet his name was not mentioned. Only his mother exclaimed: *"Alas for my deceased son"*. On day 120, I saw laughter where he used to live, amongst his belongings (his room, his bed, etc.)
Nothing remains.. Nothing matters.. https://ik.imagekit.io/lens/media-snapshot/ed394ee24d550e8cc674d1ba1c21e3fbb29df7f8a0f44ae13c29424d36718533.webp 0 reply
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