Across the miles

Imagine if you could die and come back to tell the tale. I don’t mean as a ghost, but as a person, whole and alive again, completely back in your senses. Imagine those days, hours, moments that you would spend in limbo. Not a part of this world, but not a part of the other one either. Those days when you would not be sure about anything round you being real. Those days when your soul would be roiling around in agony, without any purpose or any direction. Those days when your mind will always be clogged up by memories of the long-or short-life you lived, the facts intermingling. Those are the times, you would be unsure about whether you are dead or alive. And more prominently about whether you want to live or die. Your heart will be torn between wanting a bit of both. It would keep you clinging on to dear life, that eternal love for living glowing on inside you. It will be telling you to let go, to finally accept your fate as a ghost, a shadow as someone who is gone, someone who no longer exists and forego life to embrace the pleasures of never ending sleep. Imagine your heart being in a constant tussle, for a long, long time. Imagine wanting to  feel the rain, have chocolate burn your throat, see a shooting star, feel the summer Sun on the back of your neck. Imagine wanting all this -Just. One. More. Time. Imagine your desire tugging at your heart like a physical force., increasing its want to live. And then, as you float in mid-air, in the inky black sky, turning from shades of gorgeous azure to stormy grays, you start observing those other things, those little things, those details, the dark that always seems to linger right behind the light. And you realize that people who look happy aren’t necessarily so. For even a white rose has a black shadow. You see beyond what is clearly visible. You see the woes plaguing the happiest looking people. Your heart shudders at the thought of such miseries, all these miseries that life brings. And you decide then. You make up your mind, you have chosen, you have taken the decision. You seek death. You seek liberty. You seek to be freed from all kind of sorrow. You start letting go instead of holding on. You begin dissolving, slowly, molecule by molecule. You are reducing, dwindling, your flame getting gradually snuffed out. For some time, you are at peace, your goal decided, your difficulties gone. You are confident you will have what you want. You know you will have what you want. And then you feel a force, a force pulling at you, a force clinging to you, a force calling you back. And the force is so strong, it drives you out from your relaxed, suspended sleep. No, it yanks you out. And the next thing you know, you are among the alive again, you are breathing again. For a moment, your heart almost dances, elated. But then you start feeling, feeling the pain, the misery, the sorrow, the anxiety. You start feeling alive and you realize it might not be a particularly good thing. Yes, you survived, yes, you lived to tell the tale but that might not be something to celebrate, that might not be a cause of joy. And it all comes crashing back, all that you left behind, your life – no, your life and its eternal mess. The pain courses through your veins, setting your body on fire. In those moments when you finally thought you were leaving for good, you had become a little too accustomed with that weightlessness, that freedom of not having to feel. And now, when all your senses have been returned, shot up to the highest magnitude, you don’t think you can handle it. But you have to, you have to for you are living once again, breathing once again. If I say I have faced this, been through all of this, you wouldn’t believe me. Because no one survives once they have died, right? Wrong. Because to have gone through all this doesn’t mean dying, to have gone through all this means losing someone you love. When that happens, you feel exactly like this, like a part of you has died and then, that dead part is forced to live again. When you lose someone you love, you lose yourself and the moment you come to terms with that, the moment you decide to let that dead part of you remain dead, you are brutally reminded that you still have a life to live. And the life you live thereafter is never complete, there is always a hole in it. A hole that serves as the reminder of the missing person, as if the dreams, the memories and the voices speaking in your head are not enough to accomplish that.


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