There is only one cause for every suffering, for any time those tears filmed your eyes and dried before someone could wipe them.
Attachment.
To the green tee u had overgrown last year.
To the puny earth worm which had silently crept into your garden
To the kulfi which stealthily exposed the stick when you were bluing away at the ice cream you couldn't afford.
To the crumpled bus tickets of your only so-called 'expedition' with her.
To the innumerable cutouts so neatly placed in your all color scrapbook, only to realise that something 'cooler' had filled the cavity sooner than you made it.
To the pigeons which nestled in that small corner, you had branded as an architect's inexperience.
To the skies you never knew could be so vivacious, until you shifted out.
To the skeddle daddle of kids scurrying off to schools long before you could snooze that ever irritating oval clock.
To that ever irritating oval clock, which so innocently lived on the banks of the Tableland with variable vivid contours.
To all those old photo albums, which were stolen of all it's moments when someone gifted you a new album; oh! so accomodating.
To the blue baggy sleepers, with it's wings hanging loose, but ever so comforting.
To the red tin box of chocolates which now houses a confetti of pastels, still so inviting.
To the kaliedoscopic aircraft, which never took flight, now accomodating your special team force which ever sits so attentively as if your foe's army would somehow slither into the drawer and loot the Toy kingdom reserves.
To the mirror you hung on the ceiling which told you that you were never alone, even when asleep.
To the tube colors which bottled up in the neck, but your beliefs were colored that down it's neck luscious paint still revels.
To the balloon seller at the gate who stands still throughout the day, and simply disappears when his balloons go ghastly in the dark. You never see him leaving. Either he is at the gate or he is nowhere.
To the bee clones which create a bigger hullabaloo in the house than the infiltrates at the borders. It gets ruthlessly killed everytime. Thanks to the humble sex.
To the plants you feed daily and the plants which feed you daily.
To the invisible chat modes which give you the freedom to pick up people you love than vice-versa.
To the torn 5 Rupee note which was a part of your wallet ever since it tore. You never knew you would value it more than the new born crisp currency from an ATM.
To everything you thought was yours, and everything which you wanted to be yours.

You get attached to everything but dust, grease and happiness.