And the page lay on the grave, the dead seemed to read and absorb each word written on it. Nothing could destroy the ink, not even the overnight rain. There are things that remain, and have always been, always present even after catastrophes and nature’s furies, just like the letters on that page. The message or whatever it was, was passed on to the dead through Kashiv, it wasn’t a thing born out of his head, but he was a medium, a messenger, a prophet chosen for the mission. He is like everybody else living and dead in this world, a messenger of God, chosen for a special work, a message to leave; that is why dead live even after they die, they live through those messages they are sent with.
Kashiv’s message would be found by the undertaker of the cemetery, for whom it would be a sore to live with for the rest of his life. He would read and fold the paper and put it in his pocket, which would later fall inside a box and be buried forever with the one for whom the message was meant.
The Reader read the words on the paper…
My love for you knows no bound;
Forget the roses,
I’ll give you lost time and dead sound.
My love for you is not possessive;
I know you’ll come back to me
Or me to you
And then, I’ll set you free.
My love for you is unmatched;
Forget the horses,
I’ll ride you in carriage that travels in wind.
My love for you is not showy;
You are to me,
What dawn, stars, mountains and dusk are to me.
My love for you only is immortal;
Every time you are born,
I’ll always be felt.
However you freeze the ice
It’ll, only I know, always melt.
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