A Conversation Amongst The Luna Lilac

Mr Dickens settled into his striped, wooden chair and scratched his ear. Having cleared his ear out, he didn’t appreciate the increased volume of the chirping Circada playing their symphony in the various flower beds in the garden. A noticeably irritated expression grew over his face…

The glass chinked as the ring on his finger hit the sides, followed by the other fingers and then the thumb. The chinked was enough to temporarily silence the invisible circada. He let out a yawn and a stretch…

The beds in the garden looked visibly cleaner, the weeds piled on the lawn beside them next to the green knee mat, a gift from a faraway cousin. A cousin who, even though faraway, still knew him better than his older brother who lived just an hour’s drive away…the collection of stacked up Cornish butter biscuit tins on top of the kitchen cupboard a concrete testament to their relationship…

Mr Dickens eyed the bottle which his companion lifted carefully to refill his glass…the glass still had the chip in the rim…

I know, Bertie, a different brand of whiskey tonight…some variety is good! 

Mr Dickens remained looking at him, unblinking…

Well my old friend, the theory of fractured soul mate is basically that each person originally had their soul mate…centuries ago…

The Luna Lilac glowed from their bed, lovingly tended to during the sunlight hours…

But when they die and this dissipation of energy and the soul happened the way I mentioned last time,

Mr Dickens looked quizzical before stretching in his chair…

Oh Bertie! I’ll just remind you! When a person passes I believe that the energy in your body just dissipates back into the universe and finds itself in anything which lives…but it doesn’t all end up in the same place it spreads in random places and living things…from the stars to leaves to animals to people…the body just goes back to nourishing the earth…

He smiled with satisfaction at the speed and ease with which this belief dripped off his tongue…

So then that soulmate was fractured into many pieces…these pieces, fragments finding themselves in anything alive…

The scent filled their noses, it seemed to be stronger once the sun went down and the kingdom of the moon reigned over the earth…

Over the centuries these fragments find each other through work and friendship and love relationships…and random happenings which allow the souls to reconnect…

He rubbed his eyes as though tired…

It explains why people have certain deep connections with some people and not others, why people have that sense of familiarity with people, and I suppose why some people ‘love’ more than one person…’love’ being the only word to describe the closeness a person has for another…

Mr Dickens watched as he dropped a hand to his side and stretched out his fingers towards the Luna Lilac…plucking a flower head and lifting it to his nose…

Such a sweet scent…

He offered the flower head to Mr Dickens.

Care for some, Bertie?

Mr Dickens just repositioned himself…

I suppose a natural step for an academic in the social sciences would be to theorise that in order to maintain social order people are led to believe that love is ultimately found in one person and one person only…one person is a soulmate…it leads to guilt if a deep connection is found with another…it’s not a sexual connection though…its a much deeper connection, it’s a connection which is quick but deep from the outset…a connection bursting with familiarity and recognition, and certainty that you’ve met each other before…

A sigh…

Although starting in many different places, lives converge and intersect, and branch off like rivers, all the time still flowing…

A solitary finger slid effortlessly around the top of the whisky glass, the way it did when the thoughts were fluttering around his mind during these midnight hours…

He paid no mind when his finger tip felt the familiar snag of the chip…the chip, a comforter, an insistence as necessary as the conversations with Mr Bertie P. Dickens…
Each time his finger felt the rough edge of the chip the memory of his own love, his own soulmate came into his he and the time she made the chip…the step ladder, the wobble, and the porcelain cat…he smiled at the memory and rubbed his eye…a tear brushed away…

All of my fragments had come back together with her, Bertie…

He smiled a distant smile and shuffled inside…

Me Dickens left through the rusting gate.

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