Once two souls met high up in the hills. They sat in smoky cafe's through cold afternoons, and walked damp monsoons through obscure streets. They lived in the woods, amongst tall pines, glistening away in their leafless autumn glory. Season after season, their life never ceased, the hills too knew them by heart.
They would follow the noises in the woods and the hills, go wherever they were taken, without thinking a bit or taking a step back. They were immersed in a sense of adventure, the one that is associated with new found love. And that love never weaned. It only grew. It didn't grow either, all of it was there, an entire world of love was created the first moment their eyes met. And they kept discovering newer chunks of it everyday. Everyday. Endless excursions into the unknown. Fearless, alone, together.
Many monsoons came and went by, and they lost a thousand umbrellas. Forgetting them at the most quintessential of places, never turning back to get them again. Those orphaned umbrellas were the symbols of their hallowed affair, like remnants left in the places they frequented, like the whiff of a kiss that lasts long after its gone. They did that consciously sometimes, forgetting had become a habit, an open excuse to get drenched under the skin as the clouds came pouring and pouring down, relentlessly, night after day after night.
The most alarming charm in the bond between them was that it didn't exist. They were so deeply and undetachably connected that the bond had diminished into non existence, they were sooner and sooner becoming one soul from two, merged, siamese. Siamese souls. Like the thread tying two objects together, shortens as they get closer and vanishes one day as they add up to become one. Shamelessly, defying the rules of nature.
This story isn't real, of course, nor are they. But I see them around all the time, I see them in me all the time. And this is crazy writing.
Lest I forget, now that I quietly leave this place in a week or so, I wish to etch the two souls somewhere deep in the heart of these hills. Bury them here, to rest in peace, as I move on. Fearless, alone, together. Conjuncted.
They would follow the noises in the woods and the hills, go wherever they were taken, without thinking a bit or taking a step back. They were immersed in a sense of adventure, the one that is associated with new found love. And that love never weaned. It only grew. It didn't grow either, all of it was there, an entire world of love was created the first moment their eyes met. And they kept discovering newer chunks of it everyday. Everyday. Endless excursions into the unknown. Fearless, alone, together.
Many monsoons came and went by, and they lost a thousand umbrellas. Forgetting them at the most quintessential of places, never turning back to get them again. Those orphaned umbrellas were the symbols of their hallowed affair, like remnants left in the places they frequented, like the whiff of a kiss that lasts long after its gone. They did that consciously sometimes, forgetting had become a habit, an open excuse to get drenched under the skin as the clouds came pouring and pouring down, relentlessly, night after day after night.
The most alarming charm in the bond between them was that it didn't exist. They were so deeply and undetachably connected that the bond had diminished into non existence, they were sooner and sooner becoming one soul from two, merged, siamese. Siamese souls. Like the thread tying two objects together, shortens as they get closer and vanishes one day as they add up to become one. Shamelessly, defying the rules of nature.
This story isn't real, of course, nor are they. But I see them around all the time, I see them in me all the time. And this is crazy writing.
Lest I forget, now that I quietly leave this place in a week or so, I wish to etch the two souls somewhere deep in the heart of these hills. Bury them here, to rest in peace, as I move on. Fearless, alone, together. Conjuncted.
10 comments:
Wonderful, beautiful write!
Why bury them in the hills. Don't you know woods already have many ghost stories living and breathing?
And why leave two beautiful casper like souls here alone. Take them along, take them as one, as the sweet nectar of sweet pleasurable excursions into the hills?
:)
Blasphemous Aesthete
wow!!!
I had guessed you would understand Richa! Very few do, thanks.
Ghosts must be better than the world I am walking into Blasphemous Aesthete. Somethings deserve at least a peaceful death.
Suchi..Hmm, I don't know what I am into, but relieved, you're here, somewhere nearby.
What a capture of the soul!
Splendid.
Crazy writing...really You can make readers crazy writing like this...
Beleive me... I had goosebumps going through that...
Praise the Lord who gave us the 'Wildflower'
*hats off*. enough said. :)
Writing is supposed to redeem Enchanta. I hope this one does!
I must say I am more than honored Amit. Praise the Lord who got me a reader like you :-)
And thanks Kali.. :-)It's never enough!
Dont bury them but carry them with you. Cos maybe thats the only thing you would remember after everything else is forgotten
Hmm.. I wish I could afford that, given the Terms & Conditions of life!
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