Sometimes, all you need is some food, packed with preservatives, ready in two minutes, delicious like a hot pakora in the rains, eaten off paper plates and makeshift bowls.
Sometimes, all you need is a place to sit, unswept and messy, surrounded by bags and moving boxes, comforters and old blankets serving as the carpet.
Sometimes, all you need is music, old and melodious, the songs of your childhood, the songs you had memorized without ever knowing their meaning, haunting you and mesmerizing you by their deep meaning.
Sometimes, all you need are friends, sharing the food with you, pulling your leg, laughing with you and at you, loving you, giving you joy, and making sure that this new place you've come to welcomes you, and making it your home.
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