We have mastered the art of losing passports. Earlier this morning, the whole house was ransacked by the impromptu search team consisted of supermom, miss grubby, and the vacation goer herself. Superdad smoked outside at the garden while the Custom Officer a.k.a supercat wonders if anyone notices her belly jiggle. The whole house smelled like pandemonium. I remembered my own lost passport, only to recover it again, found on top of the fridge. The goddamn fridge.
In the midst of riffling through one of the drawers, I saw it, a souvenir given to me from someone in my past. How it got there was lost on me, and I stopped for a while to think about how random and out of place it looks, sitting pretty beside documents, musty smelling receipts, yellowed envelopes. I thought I have lost it. 2 years back, cleaning out the contents of my room, I threw most of the stuff out, and I wondered what happened to it. Your absolute favorite weapon, which you gave to me because it was your favorite, but now I am yours. Was yours.
Time actually stopped for a moment while I ran my fingers along the length, felt the bumpy edges, and tried to recall the moment this thing represents and every hopeful, youthful energy it brought. Considered giving it to you back, but then again I don’t think you do this anymore. This object is a symbol of what we – you and I -both were, and how things – ourselves included – have gone and moved on, changed for the better. It brought a smile to my face, how funny life is. How hopeful we were.
I would like to think that I remember the kind of person you once were when I look at this pair of wonderful magic. I hope you remember the kind of person I used to be to you too, in anything of mine you still have.
Here’s to lost passports, and friendships. May these things be found again, and reconciled.
