a conversation

“I can’t even believe it was real.”

“Yes. For all honesty, I am still dumbfounded. It can’t be impossible, but the mere fact of everything, put into place like, this was to be fate, is amazing.”

“We must be something special then?”

“No. We aren’t that special.”

“But those things, aren’t normal, like, it doesn’t happen to everyone. Right?”

“Well, you aren’t just really paying attention to your surroundings.”

“I do. That’s why I took notice of you.”

“Well, this must be fate too.”

“It might be. Me, telling the story of how I came to be here with you can be.”

“That sounds romantic.”

“It is, if it isn’t, then it isn’t.”

“That’s quite philosophical, but I don’t agree with fate being romantic.”

“Why is that? Are you not feeling anything from this?”

“Well, it’s not like that. In all honesty, I could be crying my all here.”

I giggled, “Seriously, don’t do that. Don’t make it any harder for us.”

“But I will not. You see, this is normal.”

“Yes, it is. We still are to be bound by this world, existing as singular beings, on separate unilateral dimensions.”

“What a nerdy way to describe our separation. You are really something.”

“No, like I said, we aren’t really that special.”

“But it is nice to think that we are, at least a bit different from everyone else, right?”

“But again, we still are of the same kind and fate. We will still meet at the same end of the stick.”

“Don’t talk about death now, philosopher.”

“It might not be death I am talking about.”

“Then what else would that mean? That life is pointless? We are all but to suffer the same fate?”


“But to what?”


“Is that even a word?”

“No, I created it. But you understand what it means right?”

“It is still related to death.”

“But death is a shallow term. For me, it only describes the decay of one’s consciousness’ container. The organic composition required to dwell in this physical earth.”

“So you mean to say, death is not final?”

“Yes, because death doesn’t result to one’s inexistence.”

“Simply put, we are to be forgotten, one way or another?”

“In conventional terms, yes.”

“You still haven’t changed.” smiling, she took her cup of coffee to her lips.

“I still adore you.”

“I know you are. But I have to admit, I can’t seem to picture out your identity.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have known each other for so long now, but I am still wondering, as to who you really are.”

“To wit, I am the alphabet of your imagination.”

She smiled and said, “Again, that’s quite philosophical, but I think I know why.”

With forlorn eyes, she looked away and whispered words the faraway horizon can hear.

“We should go.”

“You do not have to tell that to me.”

“Thank you for meeting me today.”

“You are welcome, and I must say, I should thank you too. For everything.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything of benefit to you at all.”

“Take this meeting for instance. Like I said, this should be fate.”

“Then, it should be a sad fate for us to be in.”

“Sad? Indeed.”





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