Every brick tells a story, and that is all that I've heard growing up for the last two years. Some bitter, some sweet. Some tragic, some that will always make me nostalgic. Some that devour my soul, some that I'll savor forever. It was all here, all in the stories that the red bricks told me.
As I spoke to the last brick today, I said, "It's sad that I will never speak to you guys again and sadder still I'll not have more stories to hear." The long face and the last rays of the dying light of hope in the eyes said it all.
The ruthless brick replied, "But honey, it was always a two year thing. That is what we had decided." And it broke my heart.
Thinking about those last words now, I have arrived at a conclusion that it was not ruthless on the part of the brick. It has to keep telling it's stories to the new people that come with eager ears. That is what keeps it alive. And life, as they say, has to go on.
This last brick, has the toughest job. Some people tell it that they are glad and were sick to death with all the stories, and some others cry their heart out on its shoulder. There are some like me that are the hardest for the brick, with the hope dying in the eyes, eager to hear some good news and a twist in the tale. The brick has the responsibility to shake us up and bring us to reality. It is indeed a tough job.
I wish to thank all the red bricks for their stories that would help in ways more profound that my little head with all its limited imagination can fathom. It was a beautiful sojourn of two years and the stories, I will cherish for the rest of my life.
