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Your birthday must be around the corner. The repetitive dreams are my sub-conscience’s way of reminding me, it is that time of the year. I could almost smell you, hear your voice, too. I don’t think I ever registered your voice. I was young when you left this world. It was around Diwali and I couldn’t contain my sorrow. This Diwali I didn’t think of you though. But each night since that loud, insipid night this year, you have visited me in my dreams. I was surprised the first night, happy on the second and comforted on the third. It made sense and I got used to it. Now, I fear you won’t return to engage in light conversation. We were close; I wouldn’t deny that. Ever. But it is nearly ten years now. Your voice could become unfamiliar after a point. Or I won’t recognise your playful laughter anymore. All I have is a single photo of you.

So it is possible.

And I am afraid of forgetting.

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