Afterlife, Nordic Towns and Fossilized Souls

“So, do you believe in the afterlife?” You ask, shivering in December cold and sipping chai to hold your words together.
“Afterlife is a myth and myths are created by people who are too scared to face reality,” I say.
“Or, myths are the unfathomed pieces of realities you are yet to uncover,” you said, smiling. A sense of victory sits in the corner of your lips.
“Tell me then, what happens to the soul when we die?” I ask.
“I think we fossilize pieces of our souls inside people we meet, hotels we spend lonely nights in, letters we fancy to ourselves, and places we leave our hearts in,” you say.
I knew there was no winning against you, you mold words into art and myths into discoveries so easily. I say, “If we meet in some other life, a different time, a different place, we would be able to dig out the fossilized souls we left in each other today?”
“Yeah. Why not. Maybe we will be born in colder Nordic towns. You will be a barista in a cozy coffee shop. And I will work in libraries. Maybe I will walk in someday. You will serve me Irish coffee. And while I pour it inside, you will see beneath the layers of clothes, beneath my pale skin and my cold flesh and my chilly bones. Maybe you will carve out the fossilized soul from there and maybe, for the next round, you will serve me chai instead.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Maybe,” you say.

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