(Just trying to depict an emotional scenario)

He came drenching in rain to his house, that's where he realised he lost his home...the voice which used to welcome never did now...

the blood from his hands dipped down like a river
as like as the blood from his veins...

he's aim was to dry his tears,
he wondered what a irony the salt in the eyes never pains but the salt water that ocean carries pains when it entered in'
those memories are like ocean of waves
his tears are like the rain of stroms...

he kept his boxing gloves ahead...
looked at the framed photo of him on the wall,
hanging around with the garland..

the garland ever died as he used to change daily for the person already died...

for some reasons he hate seeing himself in the mirror as it reminds him, them...
being the witness of the own dead feels really horrible for him...

He took their violin in his rough hands, to hold the violin it actually needs a soft hand like them...who was in the photo frame ...

While being violinist wasn't really his thing, the photo frame on the wall smiling made it all worth...

he still regret for being the culprit to punch bodies with boxing gloves
while his twin brother used to heal soul with music...

he clearly remember that last day his twin brother said that to him...
'Not to punch peoples it will leave him in "the regret"...'
he smirk like it won't happens...

atlast...it happens and he never got anyone to, even give him consoling words...

they killed his twin instead of him...

never knew dead was this much horrible to him...that day he witnessed his dead by him...

he killed who killed his brother and decided to be his twin brother...

to the world the mafia died
and a pleasant musician bloomed...

It was still a Regret,
but the smiling photo
made him consoled for a reason...


© Sky's tales