“Does Vamsi know about…well, the procedure?” he asked after a few moments.
“It’s ok to say it, Dad — neurotype reassignment.”
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So, in perfect alignment with our ancient wisdom, we have learned to accept our futility. We don’t shy away or hide behind extension machines when death knocks at our doors. Instead, we welcome it like an old friend saying: Take us home. We have been waiting for you.
Mutual shared silence is quite like a conversation. Stolen gazes are conversations. These are enough to carry on days when words are scarce.
As they continue walking, She looks around. They were told that today was an auspicious day, so to be prepared that there would be a significant number of people for today’s birth date alone. She watches groups like theirs, meandering about the different patches. Patches filled with cabbage like plants, people on their tiptoes trying to peek into the closest plants that haven’t opened up yet.
Daughter, this is what a soul is: a ship. A ferry from this life to the next. Waiting for your present to beach itself on shore so the ship can carry you to the future.
A secret: I don’t know if you have a soul, daughter. I never knew how to check. If your other mothers were still here, they could have figured it out. They’re not.