There was a tinge of coldness, like coarse frozen diamonds colliding in the veins last night. It started with a brush on the hips … such softness, and a veil of death embraced the form, when all at once the in-time stood silent, with the throne still warm by the touch.
Just then silence reigned, not a flux in the wave; nor a recollection of engrams. Izrā’īl came by two evenings previously, it was time to prepare for the final ascent.
But there were dreams to be fed, the man to be touched; and emotions to be exchanged. Messages parsed through the Internet is almost instant — being in two worlds and more are now even faster than before, even if frequencies, like symphonies sluggishly come to, an abrupt end.
At first glance, it was Mikaël who came, and stood by the side, silent. Neither on demand, nor in prayer. Like children thrilled, the chill clutched faster than the thawing of the Sun resting in the bosom of the aroused universe.
In the darkness, there was only a star.
The Star — The destination after a long arduous journey void of mindsets, of even the monologue forgiven, forgiven. The worlds seemed hungry, but no one was fed. The mouths were keen in talking but no words were spared; the hands were eager to be touched but no feelings were felt; and the heart was overruled by the mind — a struggle between the heavens, and the earth; between genders and lusts; between monologue and words; between embrace and tears; between polarities of the monad; between Spirit and soul; between you, and I.
It was the only seat in the Castle that was still warm, still athirst for love’s loss. In the cold, the warmth is never the rival, nor in the stifling aridness, the cold — Romeo never learnt that the Princess was dying the moment he left and settled for another dream only to realise with the unveiling of an meaningless sky, that he should have stayed till the end of the Chapter before renewing another journey, another dream.