Fabulista Remembers: The Sands of Time.

Yes. I remember you.

Sitting at the usual café where we used to hang out all the time, I recall images of you and us. Your order of an ice-cold latte is unforgettable. Your diabetes-worthy load of sugar syrup still causes cringes – albeit only in the memory of the mind.

Sometimes I gasp when someone lanky walks into the café, wearing jeans and carrying a bag the same way you do. That careless (or is it apathetic) way of the gait. I gasp. Then I realize it’s not you, it’s just someone with some semblance of you. Then I am caught in a dilemma, am I disappointed or relieved?

I am disappointed because I did not get the chance to say hello again. I am relieved because I don’t have to figure out how to say hello. Do we hug each other like long lost friends? Or do we shake hands? I don’t think I will need to figure this out; most probably not in this lifetime anymore, anyway.

You always made me laugh. I can be terribly upset with you (our mutual friends present would say an egg might fry on my forehead) but you always manage to make me forget my anger and laugh with you (or sometimes, at you). Come to think of it, I can never be upset with you.

Your patience has always been a godsend. You do not mind being the clown just so that we can make peace. Of course, sometimes we’d have or verbal matches; but you are always willing to back down so that we can go on. I love the way you’d hold me against your shoulders as assurance that we’re fine. It always made me feel safe and happy and appreciated.

Our usual café has changed. Twice. We have not met since the concave wall and the coffee table. We thought we might meet again two years ago, but somehow, it didn’t come through. I am not sure what happened. I am not sure why I am writing this.

I guess it’s the season.

I guess it’s the momentary lapse of reason.

I guess I still miss you.