unrequited love
"..the lakeside girl..." he whispered before trailing off to death.
The disciple who sat by his bed repeated them verbatim to others who had gathered to find out what the great man's last words were. The words were quoted and quoted again and before long, it had become a mantra. The lakeside girl. Girl the lakeside. They were said to contain the meaning of life, universe and everything else. The answer to eternal questions. The essence of cosmic mysteries. Those that chanted it confessed to a new inner peace. (It was better than yoga.) Soon, the phrase became a global phenomenon. T-shirts carried their message, sms jokes were made about them and forwarded across nations, songwriters struggled to find words that rhymed.
But if the master had lived a little longer, he would have added more to the three words. His life was flashing before his dying eyes. He was describing the girl he was in love with many years ago and how he had met her by surfing blogs one day. He had never talked to her, but he watched and understood her through this manufactured peephole into her soul.
He wanted to look for her, but death had found him first.
The disciple who sat by his bed repeated them verbatim to others who had gathered to find out what the great man's last words were. The words were quoted and quoted again and before long, it had become a mantra. The lakeside girl. Girl the lakeside. They were said to contain the meaning of life, universe and everything else. The answer to eternal questions. The essence of cosmic mysteries. Those that chanted it confessed to a new inner peace. (It was better than yoga.) Soon, the phrase became a global phenomenon. T-shirts carried their message, sms jokes were made about them and forwarded across nations, songwriters struggled to find words that rhymed.
But if the master had lived a little longer, he would have added more to the three words. His life was flashing before his dying eyes. He was describing the girl he was in love with many years ago and how he had met her by surfing blogs one day. He had never talked to her, but he watched and understood her through this manufactured peephole into her soul.
He wanted to look for her, but death had found him first.
Labels: fiction
