I miss the smell and sound of fire that burns literally everything. The pain, the sorrow, the random thoughts, the sadness.
I miss me int the rooftop with a cup of coffee from fresh grounded beans under the moonlight and the silent lonely night.
I miss me the freedom with my two wheels which I was enjoying as oxygen since childhood.
I miss me sitting somewhere meaninglessly for over hours looking at the lamppost lights, moving vehicles, or the deadly riverside tea stall where people hardly sit.
I miss the hour-long rides just for having a perfect cup of coffee/tea, or old Dhaka foods.
I miss the random planning tours to anywhere.
I miss the hour-long deep conversations about non-specific topics with my selected group of peoples.
Basically, I miss the old me.