The summer of 2013.
I realized I caught hold of the Philosopher’s stone. Shaken, scared and in awe of it. I remember the hundred brewing questions clouding my mind at the time. How did I come across it? Why did it choose me? People with selfish intentions may turn into ashes when they touch it. Am I qualified enough, am I really supposed to touch it?
It was as sublime as you hear of it. Engulfed my sorrow all at once and left me with a contentment unmatched. I healed, although not completely. You are not supposed to be as okay as before, the scars are left behind to remind you of the experience, the transition. I feared I grew dependent on it.
Happiness grew on me.
It had to be ephemeral. I wonder what happens after the alchemists discover their elixir and the quest finally stops. In the summer of 2013, as Facebook reminded me on my feed today, we bade adieu. I do not remember much about the texture of it, even though the touch lingered more than the usual 1.3 seconds! I remember how the world stopped moving at that moment. And every inch of separation from the stone threw me off a mile deeper into the reality of time and space.
Do I long for it? Sure, it was like an addictive substance and I became its Gollum. But the life it had shown to me in that while will last many more high tides, as a collage of slowly fading memories worth ruminating!
🙂 Thanks #Facebook ❤