#CreativeWritingContest #2
#note2self
Souls have no concept of time.
No clocks.
No calendars.
They were each other’s “meant to be” but they were never each other’s “forever”. Their lives didn’t fit together, yet their souls were threaded in an eternal cosmic dance.
With sunsets buried in her eyes, she was still in love with a moment from another time, a cage less memory that could come and go at will. A travelling breeze, yet stuck to their bones. Like salt in the sea. That one perfect moment had become a part of who they were, and everything they would go on to become.
Age dilutes us, makes us only watered down versions of ourselves. But the soul resiliently seeks it's other. She had spent a lifetime canvassing a sea of strangers, hoping for one replay, a redo, just one.
And there he was.
Now, as he lifted his head to look at her, he gave her exactly what she was hoping for…
A shiver down her spine.
His gaze tapped her shoulder, that familiar beckoning, howling her name in the dark, at a pitch unheard by others.
There was so much history in the way he looked at her. She was not merely a chapter of his life. She was an era. In a world of pretty, beautiful, stunning even-
she was Art.
Not meant to please the eyes, but to invoke emotion. Ripping his heart to paint the canvas red- the hue of abandoned autumn leaves.
She turned, her heart held loosely by worn-out threads…barely. When he smiled, the fragile strings snapped and gravity took over. Just one look, a perfect distillation of what could have been but never was.
They would continue to drift..... wander
And meet again at intersections.
But this time, their souls took an oath, a bond written in crimson.
A promise to love each other again …..
in a place where clocks don’t tick.
