She was walking through the old alleyways of old Varanasi. Small, uneven and curved pathways through concrete buildings of old times, lives and moments. Her heartbeat was leading her steps. Not knowing where to go. Not knowing what to do. Just walking. Trying to read the signs. Her heartbeat. Beating. Longing. Looking for him. Trying to find him. Finding her. Finding them.
She found herself at the Old Kings Garden. A place where she used to come before. A place of silence and peace overlooking the horizon of hundreds of years of human culture and history. A place, she liked to go. Sitting and watching over the buzzing thriving of the Ganges ghats. To her left emerged an old red tower. A ruin ot of almost forgotten times. The red still shining. The tower now a home and shelter for thousands and hundreds of doves.
There was a small little path through the decaying brick wall, guiding her towards her personal spot. Right at the edge of the foundation of a hundreds of years old wall, keeping the rising floods of the Ganges in line. Right on the floor next to the brick wall was a Shillum laying. Waiting for her. She was driven by force. Trying to understand. Varanasi was pushing her. Herself. Her nerves and her senses. She came for help. What she found was different.
She sat down. Just for herself. Reaching out for silence, peace and harmony. A moment to connect. With whom? Him? The universe? The almighty whole? The higher truth? She felt. Someone was listening.
She felt. How longer she will stay, how more she will loose her connection with him. She felt it so much. So deeply. She concentrated. Her mind turned silent. The connection was there. The mind was taking over. In speed. In rhythm. In pictures. In moments. What was happening? Her mind was talking over speed forwarding her past lives in pictures and moments, emotions and feelings.
There was a connection. She felt the connection. The presence. The knowing. The sensing. The feeling. She called him. But could he really answer?
God. She asked God. She spoke to God. That he would help her. That he would guiding her way. That he would guide her. She asked and wished and prayed for the good. She asked and wished and prayed to show her, her true love. She finished her first so concentrated prayer in an overwhelming mind bubble. As soon as she was able to open her eyes, close to loose the whole connection to her bid, her prayers and hopes, she took a breath and hold on.
Two butterflies in front of her. White. Fragile. Strong. They were playing. With each other. Softly. Curious. The play of affection and love. In circles. Circuiting each other. In perfect circles. They were flying up to the sky. Surrounding themselves. Surrounding the flowers. Flying in their play of unlimited affection and united love towards the sky. Never been seen. Never been forgotten.
When two hearts meet, their truly souls combine. They fly to the heaven, eternally into the sky. Two souls, their spirit. When they come close. Getting drawn to each other. Fly to each other. Surrounding themselves. In perfectly spheres of love and affection. Its her picture. Her future. Her soul and her longing.
The moment was pure. The silence a heartbeat. They fly to each other. Surrounding themselves. When they come together. They find their peace. This was the picture, that got send to her. Not shortly after. The phone was ringing. I picked it up and he was talking. Breathless. Quick. She was wondering that it was him.