The story of the old stairs

My sincere greetings to everyone, my beautiful one in this post. How are you all? I hope you are well, today I will share a story with you. Which is very close to my heart, at the beginning of the story, I want to welcome you all. I am writing this story based on a picture, of course you can think that the picture is a little different. I am writing this story entirely from my own thoughts, let's start today's beautiful story.

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Behind our house is a small stairs that look rather strange. It is made of bricks and no one can say how old he is. The colors of the stairs fade in stages, with small holes there that you can feel the age of your body as you walk there. A layer of dust continues to accumulate in the middle, causing it to become a little dirty during the rainy season.

When I write on this scale, many memories of my childhood come to my mind. In the morning, my mother would call me and say, “Come on, eat rice and go to school quickly!” I would run to sit near my mother, hanging my feet from the base of the staircase. Sometimes, as a child, I would think about that small hole, who made it! Even today, I understand that it must have been caused by the touch of countless feet.

My grandfather used to tell stories, “The staircase you are sitting on now, when we were children, your father and I used to run on tiptoe stealthily!” Suman, who lives next door, always used to go up to the roof using these stairs, and someone’s slippers would be in the middle of the stairs. My brother would occasionally hide small toys in the holes - he needed a day to find them, and that changed in the evening.

When it was raining, it was discovered that water could penetrate the holes in the stairs and birds could lower the spin. When the dust on the floor of the stairs became thick, my mother would scold me, my brother and I would clean it with a broom in our hands with little enthusiasm. When the stairs became hot again on a dry afternoon, sitting there with our knees bent felt a soft peace.

All in all, the stairs are not just for going up and down; they are all strewn with our family stories. Here, teenage years, familiar voices, everyone walking, everything seems to have left a clear impression.

Like the dust of an old staircase, some memories accumulate, never disappearing even if we want them to. Such is the simple story surrounding the stairs behind our house, which are actually a box of time.

Brother said, look, this staircase is not only our friend, the birds are also its friend. We all laughed then. Our staircase has stories of people, stories of birds, stories of rain.

Now the staircase is not like before, not even in childhood, we don't even hear grandfather's stories, the wailing has also decreased. But in the evening I still go up to the roof, sometimes I stop and put my hand in the middle of the staircase to see if I have caught that old stain! I know, many memories are frozen in each brick gap, in the lime stains. Seeing all this, how my mind becomes calm.

This is the story of the staircase in our house. I know it is a very simple story, very personal small feelings, life passed by on the staircase, and countless memories of simple laughter and tears. I hope that some of you also have memories of such a staircase hidden in your mind.

Be well, we will talk again about a new story.