he had resurrected the feeling of her, from the faintly etched hieroglyphic memories on the torn fabric of his soul,

in life, he had learnt that hearts break often, and as often they get mended, but it is the tears and the holes in the invisible which need to be healed,

for theirs was the gnawing pain, far worse than the oft taped heart that still managed to run a fair show on an outwardly stable stage,

it was those tears and holes which as vivid haunting dreams repeatedly, for repair, called on him unabashedly every other night,

strange reminders seeking redemption, in the form of dreams beyond his lived memories, often of another land, seemingly of another life,

he had no other way buy to go back beyond this time, to decipher and reconnect to the story of what had happened then,

of how mischievously with an impish grin on her face, had caused the rip, snipped off a few threads for safe keeping,

then laughed sweetly at his quizzical face solving the puzzle herself, by saying that should they ever get lost amongst the cycles of life,

the tear would beyond his heartbeat remind him, in each and every life of something missing, even if seemingly nothing were,

and the added weight of the few threads of his, that she had sewn on to her own would counter balance and do the same work for her,

he had resurrected the feeling of her, from the faintly etched hieroglyphic memories on the torn fabric of his soul,

but tonight the same dreams would haunt him, and maybe even more than before, for I’ve been seeing them cross each other, each day more and more,

for she too had finally resurrected the feeling of him, from the faintlly fragrant memories lingering around the strands of those random threads carelessly sewn on to the fabric of her soul,

and now, I wait patiently each day as I see them at each crossover, wondering how many lives it takes, for a bolt of lightning to predictably strike.

© vidursahdev 2020

11 thoughts on “Beyond the Heart

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