Lagging behind

Patches of sunlight sewn all over his face, he looked at me with greeting eyes.

It’s been years. I feel, a lot of it has been left behind. As if, I live in a different world. He in another. We talk. But we talk of another lifetime. A piece of us scattered among the tiled floors, floating through certain tones of laughter and taunts.

There’s nothing in the present. Except for few words. Words that explain of days he hid behind the mango tree. And of days he rolled up in the muddy football field. Where was I?

I was there witnessing everything. And witnessing itself took away a chunk of my heart. In shared moments, of dissimilar actions, somehow the energies merged.

He greeted me, as he did years ago. Passed me a glass of water. ‘How are you doing?’ he asked. I answered the usual, like an adult talking about work. And then, quickly breaking into the real answer which has always been a spurt of smile. He knows, I know. That smiles cannot hide.

I am lagging behind…in the moments he had the courage to put things in word, and I couldn’t.

I am lagging behind. The ongoing world keeps throwing me back to the purity of emotions. It’s golden to witness him.

To have a friend who can read you the way he does is golden.

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