You pick up the half wiped slate that lay gathering dust on the floor and try to figure out the broken cobwebbed words. A faint word, a name perhaps that decided to linger on after all these years. Staring hard at you, there it was, the shard of glass from your past that just decided to stab you in the eye. Prem. It simply read. Prem. A name that once rang music in your ears.
The initial feeling is of a rude shock, as if after all these years and all the efforts of moving on, life had come to abruptly spring back on you. You want to throw it away. The slate and the feeling. But you are unable to do either. It was inevitable. The slate had been planted right here, for you to find after the long years…
A rosary with the thin frame of a crucified Jesus hanging on the rear view mirror of a white coloured car, a hand with a mole on the palm, a faded pair jeans with a hole in the back pocket from which peeped a leather wallet, a sheepish laugh lingering on a careworn - sleep deprived face, hair that smelt of anti dandruff shampoo, a Hawaiian guitar with the third string out of tune, a small kiss planted on my shoulder…
You tried to stop the flood of emotions that a simple name could unleash and surprisingly… you didn’t have to try too hard. Not a tear dropped from your eyes. Not today. Not now. You have stood the test of time, realizing that some wounds do not heal with time… and some memories do not lie still in their graves, they back even without being stirred.
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