The praying story

praying storyShop the dream

Nós ossos que aqui estamos pelos vossos esperamos*

(We, the bones that are here, await yours)

Let me tell you a praying story darling. You see, I went to pray at the Capela dos Ossos yesterday because, well, where else should anyone pray?

I wore my white Erdem dress, with petals as elaborately placed on my body as the skeletal bones that make up the fabric of the walls in this chapel. I come here every now and then, resting my bones on a stone bench, praying amid other bones that once roamed this same world of ours; knowing that I will also come to be a part of the world they reside in.

There’s always the shadow of a skeletal maestro stained on the wall, opening and lifting his hands with a baton, conducting the shadows to play their violins, cellos and some piano for me while I pray, but there are no ghosts here. Those who have not let go of this world would never choose to roam around a place where death is as acceptable as a siesta on a Sunday afternoon.

I said what I had to say to G, after that, I felt as mortal as the ant I squashed with my slipper when I was entering the Church of São Francisco that led me to this chapel.

*Quote found at the entrance of the Capela dos Ossos.

Story credits: Image via Vogue Italia.

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