They are old, old names he hasn’t heard for a long time. He turns them over and over with his memories, wondering how long it took before these names became old.
When names turn old, they become like artifacts to explore – perhaps not as valuable or important during their own time, but after weathering the storms of time, has become something admirable. They become artifacts that can mean nothing to some people, and everything to others.
He hopes, when he brings up these names, that he will be looking in the right place. He hopes that even if all he can find is the emptiness of a treasure chest, people will still remember the significance of the chest, and not throw it away out of a callousness that has infected most of the current youths’ desires.
So he continues to excavate and turn these old names in his hands, waiting for the day when their secrets finally unfold and spill over his hands, and slip into the books of history.