Today, as the prompt starts, let me write about something nice, something old, something forgotten, something lost along the time. It’s so nice that somehow there is this one memory of my childhood that I want to remember till I die. The innocence of my childhood knocks the doors of my memories tonight and I shall allow it to enter, only to leave through a smile on my face.
When I was young, I waited, for the school year to end. With a joyous smile, I would always go to the temple of books. My pockets were small and the money in it was even smaller. My ambition was less, but it’s value was more.
I would carelessly select something to read over holidays. That small bookstore in my small town would routinely sell some titles for ridiculously small sums. The books would be cluttered together through which I would search, with nothing much in mind, waiting to be allured, waiting for something to catch my eye.