She Died. Many Deaths. To Return. Blossomed. Transformed.

The church was full of shadows. Frozen. The scene in black and white. Emotions running down the hills of humanity. No turning back. Regret. Anger. Lost hope. Sadness. Eyes closed. No words to describe that terrible moment. A memory flying like a black butterfly between connected souls. Burned. Flames still inside. Hidden. Crying sounds. Shoulders down. Cold temperature. The priest was present. To lead the ceremony. Honoring the truth. There she was. A beautiful figure. Getting smaller and smaller. Hair detached. No expression. On her face. Silence.

Many times the same scene was repeated. Main actors returning. The audience did not get the point. Why repeating the same old story again and again? They watched it anyway. Same regret. Same anger. Same lost hope. Eyes closed. Shoulders down. Nobody could change this awkward situation. Damned circumstances. What the hell? The priest looked at everyone seated in the audience. They remained in the dark. There was no light. No answer. Anymore. Tears coming down from heaven. The universe observed and made notes.

She  died. Time after time. Her soul was born. Lost again. She waved to her beloved ones. They could not see it. Invisible gesture of love. She felt lonely. Cried with crystal tears. The ice cold temperature made art from it. Creating beauty. Based on deepest sadness. The church felt his soul approaching. The priest sang a song. From the heart. The notes hand in hand. Lullaby for deep peace. Her legs moved. Nobody saw that. She felt miserable. Being dead not an easy place. She tried to move objects around her. So that someone could bring her back.

An old man, the wisest one, opened his eyes. He saw that her body was coming back. He noticed the number 7. Seven times she died. Seventh event. He felt the need to give her his soul's support. The book of miracles was put on the seat next to him. Page open. With more information. He read the content. Understood it all. Her pictures were added to the chapters of the book. He saw her story. In many chapters. The big lines were clear. Her family and closest friends were crying. For the seventh time. To not disturb them, each previous time was erased from their memories.

He walked to her body. The shadows remained in the dark. Not able to move. Prisoners. Took her hand. Very gently. Invited her to step up. The heavens opened. The warm sun sent a bright smile. The pieces of the church were melting. Surrendering to the fire. The priest became a young playful child. At once. The shadows returned to the box of the past. They had outperformed themselves. The family and friends returned home. Pushed and pulled by a mysterious wind. She received the most beautiful white dress. With layers so pure. Life returned in her veins. Her heart beating again.

As a princess in a fairy tale she found her voice back. The old man was reminded of his eternal youth. He smiled as well. Two white horses waited outside the church. Wild and free. The door opened. The wind blessed them. The horses felt the map of their destination. They ran in the unknown. Her dress long and magnificent. He was madly in love. Gently caressing her heart and soul. She comforted him. The book of miracles danced around the couple. With quotes so romantic and sweet. Angel Cupido watched it all with open mouth. Stunned. He was not yet a master. It seemed. So magical, how did this happen? The winter died. The summer did not look back.

The white horses reached the ocean of love. The sand made a heart. The water did not touch it. To honor the art. The couple became one with the present moment. Infinite richness. A piano played the most romantic sounds. Eyes going deeper. Melting. They saw the beauty in each other's soul. Blessed. Forever grateful. The seven deaths transformed her. She was not really death. She only let go parts of her, that did no longer serve her. He was not really old. Just forgot his youth. After a long story of sad moments. Their union empowered them. They could see through the story. Living life.

By Liesbeth Leysen

Professional Writer