The wounds that you leave on the ephemeral body, death
claims eventually.
There's this other kind of wound.. the one, you can impart the soul with. . the
one, death can't claim. . the one, that gets carried over to the umpteen lives
ahead; if any.
It hurts like a hundred thousand hells unleashed all at once,
for sure.
But the draw is, it gets carried over.
We didn't want to lose track of each other if we are to born
again.
There was only one way out: lacerate each other's souls as
ghastly as we can. .
bruised souls can quickly identify each other, we gathered.
.
Hence the story of our love.
Hence the story of our abhorrence.
Hence the story of our blighted lives.
