Rebirth Of a Hero

I don’t know how it happened. I remember that I read between the lines and realized the turn of events.
Here’s to you, he said.
Till we meet again, he said
I was dubious for days. I resigned to the fact that he may just be away for some time. 
Yeah. A very long time indeed. For ages, perhaps. Eternity, in fact.
I was at a loss. A big part of me was gone without warning.
For days I stared into nothing. For weeks, further than that. Then I finally saw his face, his stance, the raw emotion that racked his body as he played his guitar. He played such climactic tunes.
That’s all that’s left. The memory of his passion at play. Its the only thing left for consolation.
For months, it felt empty. There was no reason for creativity, no spark for inspiration. And I feared for the return of a polar alter ego triggered by pent up emotions.
The hero is dead. He’s gone. I was coping. At least bidding on the wisps of sanity. And as I performed through reality with limbs attached to strings, lifeless and less than ordinary, I saw him once again. In a different build, a different stance, a master of a different medium of artistry.
And so, it comes to life once more. 


About mfushidara

I am not Japanese. It is just a pen name.

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