End of Days

 

End of Days

So many things left unsaid… so many visions unrealized. And yet, a huge contentment settled upon her. For although she was on her death bed, her soul mate was right beside her, clasping her frail hand in both of his own, and letting his tears fall freely on that union of hands. But her eyes were bright, and her weak, exhausted smile, genuine. For, at the end of her days, she’d finally understood: that life was like a piece of art, on to which new details were added daily, but that never quite ever got finished.  And that, at this very last moment, only the highlights of her life mattered: the many shared long walks through many a nature trails, the many joyous birthday celebrations of herself and her soul mate, and those regular, still moments when both just gazed into each other’s eyes, without saying anything.

 

Life had been a grand, precious gift to her, and she had lived it to the fullest. She had often climbed to the highest heights of pure joy and exhilaration, where even angels would have wept in ecstasy. And she had also, every now and then, descended to the lowest echelons of sorrow, where only her soul mate could reach her, and pull her back up. But the world around had been vast, and multi-colored, and every new day had always brought with it new experiences, and new memories to hold on to. And she had realized, that life was full of nuances – so many shades, so many hues, so many delicate and fragile sentiments – and that all these only made it all, all the richer. Looking back at all that, she knew that her life, her piece of art – her fresco – was firmly etched into the aisles of time and history.

 

And now, as the curtains fell on her life, she made one last effort to talk to her soul mate. And she told him, in a surprisingly clear voice:

 

“It has been one wild but endearing ride, dear. Now promise me… promise me, that when I finally fade away, that you will not continue weeping, for I will no longer be able to wipe your tears away.”

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