Graveyard. This is the place where my belief is obliterated. It disappears as if it never existed in this vast cosmic arena. But what intricacies lie in my head is not what troubles me, it’s the tangible ‘stuff’.
I walked slowly.
Do we need to return to the source? If yes, what is the source? Is it a different, unforeseeable frequency? Is it heaven? If no, then where do we go. Do we go at all, I wonder.
The dirt path was lined with bushes. It’s almost surreal to walk such a path in October, lined with dry leaves as they crumble under my burdened steps. I avoid them, afraid that the crunching would disturb my sweetheart who is indulged in a deep slumber.
The idea is so frightening. Not the demise of a dreamer but the death of dreams. What becomes of that? So many longings. So much desire. It kills me to think that she couldn’t see all those places that sparked a twinkle in her eyes. There’s a different energy when people talk about their dreams. Look in their eyes and if you look closely enough, you’d find that glimmer. It’s almost magical.
I came to a halt. The lilacs in my hand were fresh. She’d love them. I sat down beside her grave and put the flower on the tombstone. Here lies Mary Smith.
“Hey, sweetheart. I got you lilacs. I know you love ‘em” I whisper, almost like she was beside me, with her head on my shoulder as we look at the sun dipping into endlessness. “So today I was cleaning the house and I found your diary in one of the kitchen cabinets. I ended up on the page where you have written about the time we met. God! It seems like yesterday. I remember you looking like the prettiest girl ever created and walking along the shores of Bosphorus. And I kept staring at you until you confronted me.”, I smiled lightly. “You kept scolding me but all I could do was look at your hazelnut eyes. It was as if the world has stopped and nature held its breath just to witness a meeting of souls, a mere touch of two hearts looking for each other, waiting, just like a stone at the end of a slingshot ready to fly at a maddening speed. That’s the way we fell for each other.”
I took a pause and stared into the sunset. Everything around was lulled slowly like a long, deep exhale. A pigeon came back to the nest to her little squabs. Suddenly, it reminded me of home. And I looked at her grave. Because home is a feeling of being loved and this was my home.
It was getting dark as shadows elongated and then disappeared. I stood up and dusted myself. Even though I didn’t want to go, I had to. A choice that snatches a piece of me every day. I know that it’s just wishful thinking but I believe she’s in a long dream. A dream of the misty mountains and beautiful birds. And in that dream, she waits. She waits beside a pine tree with a longing that is so intense that the dream couldn’t move forward. I promise, my love, that when I drop into an everlasting sleep, I’d appear at your abode like soft breath. Like an early morning fog. And I promise not to leave your side ever again. We can build a wooden hut and make each other some coffee or we can plant those lilacs and tend to them as each day pass, better than the last one, and as we spend the eternity inside our dream.
-w
I walked slowly.
Do we need to return to the source? If yes, what is the source? Is it a different, unforeseeable frequency? Is it heaven? If no, then where do we go. Do we go at all, I wonder.
The dirt path was lined with bushes. It’s almost surreal to walk such a path in October, lined with dry leaves as they crumble under my burdened steps. I avoid them, afraid that the crunching would disturb my sweetheart who is indulged in a deep slumber.
The idea is so frightening. Not the demise of a dreamer but the death of dreams. What becomes of that? So many longings. So much desire. It kills me to think that she couldn’t see all those places that sparked a twinkle in her eyes. There’s a different energy when people talk about their dreams. Look in their eyes and if you look closely enough, you’d find that glimmer. It’s almost magical.
I came to a halt. The lilacs in my hand were fresh. She’d love them. I sat down beside her grave and put the flower on the tombstone. Here lies Mary Smith.
“Hey, sweetheart. I got you lilacs. I know you love ‘em” I whisper, almost like she was beside me, with her head on my shoulder as we look at the sun dipping into endlessness. “So today I was cleaning the house and I found your diary in one of the kitchen cabinets. I ended up on the page where you have written about the time we met. God! It seems like yesterday. I remember you looking like the prettiest girl ever created and walking along the shores of Bosphorus. And I kept staring at you until you confronted me.”, I smiled lightly. “You kept scolding me but all I could do was look at your hazelnut eyes. It was as if the world has stopped and nature held its breath just to witness a meeting of souls, a mere touch of two hearts looking for each other, waiting, just like a stone at the end of a slingshot ready to fly at a maddening speed. That’s the way we fell for each other.”
I took a pause and stared into the sunset. Everything around was lulled slowly like a long, deep exhale. A pigeon came back to the nest to her little squabs. Suddenly, it reminded me of home. And I looked at her grave. Because home is a feeling of being loved and this was my home.
It was getting dark as shadows elongated and then disappeared. I stood up and dusted myself. Even though I didn’t want to go, I had to. A choice that snatches a piece of me every day. I know that it’s just wishful thinking but I believe she’s in a long dream. A dream of the misty mountains and beautiful birds. And in that dream, she waits. She waits beside a pine tree with a longing that is so intense that the dream couldn’t move forward. I promise, my love, that when I drop into an everlasting sleep, I’d appear at your abode like soft breath. Like an early morning fog. And I promise not to leave your side ever again. We can build a wooden hut and make each other some coffee or we can plant those lilacs and tend to them as each day pass, better than the last one, and as we spend the eternity inside our dream.
-w
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