I knew a part of you

There I was, trying to reclaim a memory lost. Here I was, making a new memory that was strangely familiar.

How queer it was that as I was questioning myself and the things that could have happened, our paths happened to cross again.

You were still the same, I said. That was rare, in a time when everyone else I knew was striving to be someone different. I wondered what kind of a world was it that you lived in. One in which you were immune to expectations and sheltered from realities. Or even if you were aware, you did not let all these matters touch you. For years I had perceived it as weakness, only now did I realise that it was not that. Nor was it strength. It was just you. It was the way you coped, the way you found your place and balance in the world.

Nostalgia turns a blind eye to misgivings and incompatibility. It brushes over the unpleasant and paints a pretty picture of the times gone by. What kind of a bridge should I build to get across?

Perhaps I was always meant to wonder, such was the purpose of your existence in my life.

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