The Handwriting within Alma's Soul

I was just going through some old papers of mine from an investigative file I had. Inside were numerous statements from people back when I was at the FLETC training course. I was just looking at them and noticed how each persons' handwriting differed. Some were sloppy and illegible...others were small and crowded...yet other people wrote with great flair. I would guess mine should fall into the sloppy category. I am speaking of cursive writing...of course.

One particular statement caught my attention more than the others...as the writing was beautiful...almost artisitic in nature. The letters were looped and swirled in a way that would remind me of caligraphy...that writing of the days of old. Such beautiful writing would have to belong to a person with an inner soul filled with character and sensitivity. Someone who could express themselves more of the written word...than of the spoken one.

It was of no surprise to see that the author of that letter was none other than the woman I have loved for so long. It was a style of writing that I would not soon forget. It was a shame that her writing had to be for the condemnation of myself. I would have much preferred that her words of written expression and beauty would have been directed to a much more intimate feeling.Words that would have reinforced my love for her...and that of her for me. I think of such beautiful writing being wasted on things that should not have been. Artistic flow should be reserved for human interaction that transpires between souls...not for the use of the omnipotent power of an imperialistic nation. To use such beauty in such a corrupt manner is an afront to all who strive for individuality. I condemn her not...as it was the power and intimidation of the state...which had caused her to use her beautiful skills for such a nefarious task.

In a way...she too has the artistic soul that occupies my body. Kindred spirits in the way of human enlightenment. I know all too well her sensitive nature...her delicate ego...her inner beauty. It resides in me to this day. Never to forget these things shall I bring to my death. When all is but dust and earth...water and fire...heaven and hell...shall my memories hold tight the bonds of my eternal spirit. Bonds that connect with her in ways I cannot possibly comprehend. It is the way of the heavens...that which rose from the dust...took breath from the wind...and fell silent evermore to the earth. The cycle of life perpetuated in the story of everlasting love. Surrender we will the weak bodies we occupy in the short time we are here...yet forever last in silent repose the spirit of love...which does not die.

Her handwriting is on the wall for all to see. Yet as all may see...it is written for only one. So as it is with her...it is the same with me. "Words...like silent raindrops fall...into the well of silence."