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“Did you look for it?” Lira asked looking hastily around for that dear thing.

“What? You never told me anything.” Her brother exclaimed with an irritated tone.

“Okay.” And with that Lira left the room keeping the door ajar.

“I have to look for that thing, or it is going to ruin my whole day.”

She knew she had kept it somewhere. Somewhere precious.

She had torn the page from her diary, because she wanted to keep it somewhere much safe. Besides, it was to good for her diary.

She definitely had to keep it somewhere. Again, I repeat. Somewhere very safe and sound.

She had torn that page with her special writing, from her diary and had thought that she would come back to it. It was too precious. Too gentle, and loved every second that she had written on it, with her mind running wild and her hands writing in things that she didn’t think twice of, or judge it.

It was a poem, that she had written about a girl, that had lost her way, or maybe, people had lost their ways towards her, that they had never ever come to meet her after they had told her that it was for her own good to be left on her own separately. Maybe, those people had intentionally forgotten about her, so that they would never have to come back to her.

The name of the poem was, the garden of exile, which was inspired by a song Lira had heard a long time ago, and had fallen in love with it then. She had forgotten the sound of it, but the effect that it had inflicted, still remained in her distant memory.

She had to write it down, before, it had to destroy her with its weight on her mind, that would later that day prove to be the doom of her , by not letting her breathe properly.

The suppression of not writing things down,that came to her mind was too much, and therefore, she had to write them down or it would suppress her instead.

Similarly, it was this piece of paper, that she had written on, and had become very attached to it, just like all the pieces that she wrote. But she had to keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere, that she woud get back too.

“But where exactly?” Lira put her hands on her hips, and stood there looking around the mess in the room that she had created after she had left the other room earlier.

There were books scattered everywhere, and she had just cleaned her room yesterday.

“Where is that safe place?” She spoke out loud to herself, feeling frustrated every passing minute that she had spent searching through every page of her many novels that were now lying on the floor. And the shelves where it had lay previously stood there completely empty.

This had always happened. She would take a thing, and decide to keep it in a safe place, and then she would forget what that safe place was in the first place.

“Does this safe place even exist?” She sat down with a thud on the verge of giving up.

Lira sat there for a long time, staring into space trying to rememberwhat she had exactly written in that particular poem that it made her so restless when it couldn’t be found.

After a while,she started gathering the books around in order to clean the room now.

Nobody knew, where she kept her writings, but her. So it was useless getting angry at somebody that had no clue what she was looking for.

In these times, she usually settled in her room, and practiced seclusion.

But right now, she had to frist clean the mess that she had made.

“hmmm” she looked around, faked a smile, and started getting on with picking up the books lying on the floor and placing them on the shelves.

An hour had already passed by, and the books were almost all in one place. The books had found their position right where they were from the very beginning.

It had only taken five minutes to have destroyed the shelf before, but it had taken almost an hour to fix the chaos that she had created.

Her mind was now a little calm from all the cleaning that she had done. She wasn”t looking fo that peice of paper anymore.

Now, there lay only one book on the floor, which had to find its place back. As Lira bent over, to pick the book up, she saw a little envelope in between the sheets of her favourite novel.

She took the little envelope, completely confused, because this book was her favourite, and if there was ever a safe place it would be this book for her poems. And that was the very reason, she had checked it the first thing before she had checked other books, and she had found no envelope then.

Then where did this musty brown enveope come from. She lifted the book and the envelope and gently opened it, yet felt a little curious.

As soon as she saw what was inside, her eyes widened, with tears almost on the brink of falling down from the deapth of her eyes.There in her hand, lay the poem, that very piece of paper she had been looking for all along. It was right there.

But she had checked it before, and there had been no envelopes there before.

“How?” She looked happy and confused all at once, as she decided to take that piece of paper and type it into her computer. She wrote the whole poem down in her notes. She typed in every word and thought of why she was soo hooked on to finding it before. The words that she had written were just soo beautiful. It was a beautiful poem, and had to be shared with the world.

She typed in everyword, and clicked on the ‘publish’ button, before she lost it again.

There was no safe place. No safe place at all, because of how Lira was always unorganised, writing anywhere and everywhere the ideas that she would get. The ideas were pretty impulsive and had to be written down somehwre before they decided to vanish from her memories.

Some writings, Lira would get back to, and some would remain in certain books and be forgotten.

But Lira had cherished and loved every piece she would write.

Ever little word, had a meaning in her life just like people. She didn’t mean to forget them. Her poems were her only friends. There was no safe place for them except for the affection she held in her mind and her soul, from the way they made her feel.

⁃ LIRA