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The Excavator

A short story, written in the early hours of the morning.

She felt a texture of love as she slept at night.

It felt like scattered remnants of love.

Spread out throughout the entire cosmos…

Like a love, which had been lost. Like a heart that had exploded and scattered debris to all corners of the room.

It was like all of these little quanta of love were lost and, in fact, unrecognizable as ever having been a form known as love.

They were just the cold remnants of something once been,

now beginning to merge into the mundane of the their everyday surroundings.

They were fossils and they seemed dead.

Until, someone started collecting all of the little pieces.

Someone started excavating!

They sieved through the mundane rocks and grains of life with perfect precision. They identified and extracted the flakes of love hidden in the fabric of what we normally see.

And she held them steady in her hand and slowly pushed them closer together.

As she collected more and more, the fragments began to recognize each other!

They began to stir… and they began to wiggle!

They leaned towards each other almost like magnetized iron filings or maggots beginning to writhe over a spoiled fruit. They merged together and became a sort of mesh!

It folded in and out of itself like an extended poly-protein molecule or a loofer that you use to wash your body. The texture, to hold in ones hand, was quite exquisite!

The excavator felt blessed to be floating there, holding such a fragile and unique entity… such a unique beginning.

The excavator’s eyes widened and then closed as she realized that this mesh was only going to grow more opaque.

Both she and the mesh knew that it would only find more form as they went further down this road.

This love would need its other fragments to find strength. It would find consolidation through growing singularity. It would become alive… but as a payment for this, it would also become formed.

It would have to exist in the real world once more.

A world full of interpretation, misjudgment and ambitious misuse.

This love would become a symbol of itself…

It would be a symbol until it was strong enough to expand and permeate through all of life as an actualization of itself. It would be a symbol while people could grasp still at it and claim possession… until it could complete another cycle of its creation.

All of this was felt in this moment, where this excavator, this scavenger of hearts, held this barely visible mesh of love in her hand.

She felt all of the future pain, all of the future sorrow, all of the false pretense and all of the abuse in the name of this word.

She saw the emergence of the ego and its impersonation of the heart.

The both saw the arduous journey ahead and took a deep breath in unison.

At least they would take the first steps together!

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