M O R T A L …

All the words so sweet get lost in the echoes. Love seems empty in the presence of hate. Fading into the great black the sound of silence is what she craves. The intimacy of a soulmate is emptying and shallow yet robs the soul of the pleasure. She observed the rhythm with which the waves rocked the shores. She cried to the beating of her own heart.

As the sun set upon the sea, from a distance he approached, an orchestra to accompany his music. His voice was too sweet for the mortal as such, attracted spirits that without delay descended down on him. As they descended down on him like blackbirds, she became deaf to the serenade that made her enslaved to him. The serenade that had grown to be her daily dose of oxygen. She began to suffocate.

The pain that came with every contraction of the lungs, with every beat of her slowing heart, with every pint of blood that would not flow to her nerves was numbing. She needed a healing, she needed to hear. She would trade her life for his voice. He finally turned to look at her, she could not see him. Pain, the pain had blinded her.

Yet the immortals loved his voice, they kept calling on him as a ready audience. As any performer would do, he chose to go for the bigger and ready audience. Yet he was the one she loved. But she was mortal, he was immortal. He was ready for her, but she enjoyed being mortal.

The tides became high. She had to leave the shores. This time, she was sure he would never come back. When she got back home, she looked at his photo and whispered through her tears, REST IN PEACE.

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