Teach me an art of graceful exits.
Your art of evanescing.
Like paint on a wall.
Fresh and shiny in the beginning and then leaving its glory, peeling off with cracks, fading away.
Like seasonal flowers- Sonmohor receding at the end of the summer, stealthily.
You realise their absence only after they are gone.
Teach me that and I will teach you a bit about dramatic exits.
Like a popular character dying on-stage, violin weeping in the background, audience sniffing and wiping their eyes.
Like a raging storm, leaving mess behind, stomping away with wrath.
Let's promise we would never use our arts against one another.
Promise me we won't exit, okay?
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