The heart is beating, and it continues, even if the soul has long tired, has the soul always
been, or was it made? Maybe a question better left unanswered.
Once the soul is mauled, the scars remain, much longer than the beautiful flowers of our own
blooms, often replacing the smiles far into life. The smiles are a part of what is stolen, only
there is much more that can be.
One day, something intangible was stolen—unseen, yet deeply felt. The thief went uncaught,
clever and bold. He stole in broad daylight, right before our eyes, yet escaped unnoticed. And
surely, he would return to steal again.
He would come and go, multiple times, doing the same thing he always did, taking along
speckles of love, rusty pictures of life, sparkles of wonder, and the lovely tenderness of youth.
And today, I wish to tell you a story, it is a small one about the same theft by the same little
thief, one that may be insignificant, but it is a story regardless, and does time not tell the best
of stories?
The heart maybe a piece of land, not owned and neither watered, but to her, it was a little
creature, one worthy of cherishing, blossoming springs amidst the warmth, and flowers of all
kinds. The blossom could not compare, soft and subtle, tender and sweet, it was a joyous little
thing, pink petals with swaying leaves, fluttering as if an invitation to dance, to which one
would gladly respond. The flowers sometimes shied away, blushing as they turned their faces,
and coveted with a blanket of warmth they smiled with assurance. A case of wondrous youth?
I think so too, but is it not better to live in soft, eternal wonders rather than the firm yet harsh
edges of materiality? But even so, it does not last, a case of wondrous youth or simple
avoidance, we know not, however, one does not have to think in order to know it is not ever
lasting.
The bloom on the bleed could last only oh-so-long before it met its inevitable demise. First
came the tenuous, but noticeable cold winds, ruffling the petals of the delicate flowers, letting
them sway before they steadied themselves. But then came the raw and delirious rains, some
lost their petals, others simply bowed their heads, submitting to all that went on. Innocuous
sentiment soon to turn to pure vehemence, no doubt the change was brewing. Onslaughts of
wind and rain went by, more and more petals were lost, more heads drooped, but they always
came back, back to how it all was, much like the little sorrows and joys of adolescence.
But once and for all, came the roughest winters she had seen, almost rendering her heart cold,
and devoid, she persisted, as long as she could, but of course, one can only fight as much as
the willpower allows, and thus, he arrived. He arrived and did what he had always done, he
stole. Before, he had stolen little pieces and shattered hopes, but this time, he stole something
big, something much more valuable, an artifact, a piece of her dreams taken straight from her
future. But what could she do except watch as he came, took, and left?
Days and years may go by, but the wounds of loss will remain, until the last breath fades into
the insignificant components of air, and far until the crawlers have consumed memories, the
wounds will fade only then. But that was surely not his last thievery, and definitely not his
first, he has stolen from me, much the same way he did from her, he is a part of this universe,
eternal, and absolute, he is unpredictable, but a part of us, he is none other than what some
rightfully value; Time
Now it is up to you dear reader, whether these words are merely alphabets, or a display of
deeper spirit, I cannot confirm, so I shall leave it to your sentiments.
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