Storm of death

Strolling on the broken and cracked paths of life, we meet innumerable people. Some people who get along with us and some who leave us. Also among that 'some', we choose our special ones. The ones who get the key to our heart.They hold our hands and promise to stay even after life. We, happily, start plunging in the sea of vulnerability without any regrets. Our souls meet in the battlefield, attack, but eventually happily lose in the war of love.
Their soul now start uncovering our wounds. Bleeding wounds. And soon our soul becomes naked in its purest form. Their soul hold ours, embrace it, soothe its scars with the soft touch, and steadily the two of them commit the 'holy' sin of love.
And then, they leave.
They leave exposing every scar and every wound. Another defeat. Our soul is now tired, afraid of the worldly chaos. After being mercilessly unveiled, it has lost its strength to dress again. It weeps pleading for freedom. Freedom from this vicious circle of love and separation. Begging for death, it shouts again. Silence.
Soul dies but unfortunately the body survives. And just like these logs of woods tied together, the bits of body are tied waiting for the storm of death