Timeless Love
In few of my lives, I've been lucky enough to watch her return my smile. That was probably a smile she threw at friendly strangers. But to me, that was the only painting that hung upon the wall of my soul, the elixir that filled me with hope and strength to search for her in the remaining lives.
But alas, as fate would have it, I mostly found her at a wrong age- she was either too young or too old for love. Once I found her as a kid, no older than six, yet I narrated our tale of love unabashedly, my heart sagging with distasteful hope. By the end of my narration, she commented that the story was so much better than her grandma's bedtime stories. Twice I found her as a young, handsome man. Oh I loved her (or him?) all the same, for gender and sexuality are matters of the body and mind, not of the soul. But, I saved the story for the next lives. In my fifth life, I stumbled upon her when she was in her late teens, the ripe age when the seeds of love are sown in the soil of the tender hearts. After she listened to my captivating story, which was dripping with love and longing, she tossed her head and laughed till she had tears in her eyes. I had tears in mine too for it has been so long since I heard the sweet sound of her laughter. The next life, she was a young widow. She refused to even speak to me, for she had vowed to never look men in the eye after her husband's death. I rented the apartment next door and watched her waste away her youthful years in mourning that seemed to be endless until one day the burden of the sorrow became too heavy for her worn-out heart. I nearly died a bit everyday after that. I wouldn't wish that kind of suffering on my worst enemy. Yes, a memory that lives through the lives gives one more pain than pleasure.
I was reborn for the last time. It was my last chance to unbury the heap of memories that lay dormant in the untouched parts of her soul. This time I reminisced about our days together, more to myself than to her, for I knew this would be the last time I was reliving our good old days. She listened to me like only Ellena could listen, with her eyebrows arched together so much that it could be mistaken for a unibrow, her unblinking eyes searching my face for the unsaid words, her lips pursed together in an involuntary pout. She teared up when I did, she smiled when I laughed, she listened harder when I paused. When I was done, she placed her hand on my shoulder and told me that she was getting married the following week.I gathered enough courage to caress her cheek for one last time, and then walked away without looking back.
Sometimes, I wondered if we had been destined to fall in love with each other only in that life, that long, fulfilling life we had cherished until old age invited Death into our house discreetly. But, what does destiny mean to a love that has defied all the Laws of Time and other dimensions?
When she walked down the aisle, her eyes met mine. For a moment, fleeting as it was, I caught a glimpse of pain, reminiscence and desperation. But what shined through most eminently was love, love that had been fermented through the centuries, love that only I can decipher. But then, she turned away as if our eye contact had been a mere matter of coincidence.
I could only smile, for I'd realized, not long before that a love that exists only in dead memories is undeniably alive and throbbing with life, and certainly doesn't die with the death of human hearts.
Image courtsey: pickpik.com
Orginally published on https://themusingsofachaoticmind.blogspot.com/?m=1
