Even the coldest stone warms up to you if you hold it in your hand for some time. Stones are memory portals. Be it a beach pebble, a mighty mountain or the one watching the world from the river bed. Each one alive, content and patiently waiting. Warm and enduring like love.You can always depend on stones. They are always there no matter what.
Some lives are like stones. So are some loves. Some others, like water. Restless, curious wanderers. Always off to someplace else. Disappearing quietly, unseen, unheard.
As I gaze at evening sky, my hands rested on ancient stones I imagine myself to be my gravestone, watching over my bones since hundreds of years. The river had changed its course many a times since then. The flesh rotten and gone. Only the bones had faithfully stayed and the stones.
Deep shadows rapidly began to consume everything as the sky furiously bled on the bare breast of the river. A cloud had caught fire and was slowly turning to ash. I watched till only its shadow remained in the sky and then that too merged with the deepening blue. I opened the palm and slowly dropped the stone into the river. The calm surface of the water embraced it lovingly. I imagined it slowly embedding itself in the river bed. Finally at home.
They say the best stones are those which you gather yourself. It was under the same sun stabbed sky I had found mine almost hidden among other bigger pebbles. Shimmering green against the light. A rare, unusual find. Legend says that you never keep the first stone you find so I offered it to you. A symbol of eternal love.
“Keep it safe. It is precious and will bind us to this place and to each other.” I had said placing it on your palm.
“A stone? We aren’t Penguins sweetheart.” You had laughed and placed it back in mine.
It was the last sunset we watched together.
You once said I have a heart of stone.
Yes, I do and it is a heart you should have trusted.