undisclosed.

He was seven then. The lost soul he saw was sitting, waiting.. He held her hand, it was soft, smooth, a pillow filled with flimsy feathers. Her hands were blushing in pink, he wanted to hold it ceaselessly. It felt like mortality.. A feeling he wanted. Though the design was menacing, they both agreed upon it.. he saw mutuality, she saw love, both love and mutuality. Till they see each other, till the sun gush in anger and the moon gyrate on a different course, till the actual turns into figment. He held her hand for a few minutes, twelve times the moment, a few time to love her, to care for her, his innocence was a nuisance to the things he could have done to turn the moments into pearls. But he realized, it was not the moment that turned into pearl, it was his solitude. She then stopped grasping for air. He lost her hand, her soft, cold hand. Priceless pearls came down rushing from his sense. i need her lost soul.. her soul..