There is an image of an elegant, ancient face,
permanently etched on Ocho’s chest

This is not a metaphor, I assure you, seeing in that the
image was made in ink, carved in blood and weathered in the sands of time

It’s quite real

This image resembles, when gazed upon in the right
light, of course, a picture of a woman’s face right next to ochito's heart muscle
It’s quite difficult to decipher why it ended up there
in the first place, nevertheless, there it remains

Motionless
Silently staring out,
into the world

Waiting perhaps?
For what? I couldn’t tell you

I've often considered the possibility that it waits for the original author to return; to
come back and claim both it and what’s patiently beating inside his chest

Not even the sun or moon itself dare comment on such matters

Mystified, Ocho stares at the images blank expression
A melancholy grin shines through as he realizes
That “they” cannot be separated by things
like lifetimes and solar systems, so he waits

Together...

They wait, and wait and wait.
Not in anguish; no
In faith