Mortality

by Dieu

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64 years ago, on a cloudy day in September, two lovers embraced after a long interlude of separation. He sighed at the softness of her hair between his fingers. She kept her eyes open when they kissed – studied the smooth delicate skin of his eyelids, which twitched like the fluttering of moth wings. Her heart felt like it was translucent and full of air, and she held on to him so as to not float away.

Later on, they passed by a dog sleeping in the grass. For a moment it looked dead, then at the sound of its owners voice, it happily became alive again – pranced down the street, sniffed and stopped at every new object it encountered along the path as if seeing it for the first time.

Yesterday, a little boy asked his father how do plants grow. His father replied, “they need to grow deep roots, and a home and light, and then they will grow – like you and I”.

The boy asked, “and they die too”?

– “yes, and they die too.”

A week ago, a man ate dinner alone, and he was sad for a moment, but then he saw how the light from the window turned the wine in his glass into fire, and he smiled and was happy.

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