It has been eight years. Time passes. It creates a distant fog, blurring memories. I was thinking while sitting by myself, what if there was a magic line on which you could talk to your departed other half. No one knows how long one is going to live,or how soon it will be time to go. Hence these few lines.
It was last week, before the unfortunate mishap with my left foot. Son needed to have his wedding photos developed for his wife’s visa. I went along with him. I shouldn’t have gone. It’s never a good idea to go to shops. One buys unnecessary things. I had time to browse while I waited for Son, and that was my undoing. It was no excuse for my buying spree.
Coming out I was following Son. I’m a slow person, taking in the view, while Son takes gigantic strides. He gets ahead so quickly that I had difficulty in following him. A couple of people came between him, and me, while I was focusing on them, and how to pass through, I lost him. I couldn’t see where he went.
I kept looking for him, forgetting where the car was parked. We had come in his vehicle, as he wanted to fill his car’s tank. His irritated call soon came, asking where was I? Anyway we found each other.
My sister has found the solution to my forgetfulness, and that is : the moment I get down from the car, I should take a photo of the location.