Read Euphoria IV here.
The weather was beginning to get better. It was early spring. The same days when the stage for her journey had begun to set. The air was fragrant with familiar scents –but it lacked the verve she’d felt a year ago. Three sixty five days around the sun; what had everything come to?
The weather was beginning to get better. It was early spring. The same days when the stage for her journey had begun to set. The air was fragrant with familiar scents –but it lacked the verve she’d felt a year ago. Three sixty five days around the sun; what had everything come to?
It began as a dream; a dream so fragile, it was bound to have consequences. And yet she set about to pursue it; fearful for what if it didn't work out, but overwhelmed by the idea for what if it did? Only hearts that are confident find romance in uncertainty. Hers was; and so all else mattered not.
It was a dream, a dream so fragile... She should’ve thought about it carefully before stepping in.
It was a dream, a dream so fragile... She should’ve thought about it carefully before stepping in.
Tied in shackles of fresh memories; she was struggling
feebly to find her way. It was quite some time now, and despite that she'd given up, not even a single day would pass when she wouldn’t think of him and his whereabouts.
It was her need to belong that had had her living miserably. But no more would she look forward to hearing from him, who had turned away without saying final adieu. So much did she learn in his absence. The East Wind would often bring her a valuable maxim, a word of wisdom, carried in a voice she had grown up listening to. But a heart has always been a nuisance, it doesn't fall in traps of conditioning so easy. She lived in her melting numbness, somewhere between bearing in her the shock of what happened and an ache of what couldn't...
There were however signs of
improvement. Her satin dress had dried by now; the red glossy color had faded.
Her feet and palms still had dull traces of henna. She had removed the smudges
of kohl from around her eyes, the gray impression however remained. Her hair that
had grown messily long was now pulled back in a rough bun with uneven locks hanging carelessly. She had also begun
responding to the voices that had been there whispering in her head. Something
had however sunk so low inside her, she couldn’t find it anymore. A long journey awaited her. With a hole punched in her empty chest, a void left between her fragile fingers, she was to walk upon it. Alone. She wore what she was told to, a face which didn't suit her disposition. A mask, made of uneven, artificial emotions that never had and never can reach the heart. It was only now, that it came to her how this realm was no different from the one she had come from: how all notions are governed by same set of stereotypical customs that chain every young heart, consequentially suffocating dreams of each to a tragic death. It was only now that it struck to her how every appearance is a combination of irregular, misleading lies. Each carrying a story within and without.
A portrait of childhood that she left behind for new experiences: a memory of flying lanterns that she gave up in desire of capturing the brilliance of queen moon. A set of her own stories that she traded for his accounts: a bunch of joyful associations she let go to catch up happily with his melancholy tales...
It was only when life stopped being normal she began to appreciate it.
And wasn't it too late already?
A portrait of childhood that she left behind for new experiences: a memory of flying lanterns that she gave up in desire of capturing the brilliance of queen moon. A set of her own stories that she traded for his accounts: a bunch of joyful associations she let go to catch up happily with his melancholy tales...
It was only when life stopped being normal she began to appreciate it.
And wasn't it too late already?
It was no longer the place she used to know. All she had ever known in this journey was lost somewhere. She felt like a star, separated from its moon, thrown off to a distant galaxy. The Mighty Moors commanded the nature to mend her broken wings. They sent their inky clouds to help her find the lost pieces. But the more she'd try to forget, the better she'd remember. She remembered. She remembered how he had presented his final departure. She remembered what had happened after he had showed up, and gone, and showed up again. She remembered everything...
He had showed up again. After making clear of what he had come to say, after walking away back into the abyss, without a word of farewell, after a considerable amount of time, just when her mind switched to finding her way forward, just when she decided to dispel all the phantoms of past, he showed up again. No Muse invoked can aid with accurate words which would justly define the emotions that ran through her like wild blizzards. The array of dull, melancholic evening stars assigned to look over her, suddenly brightened and cheered. He heard her silent cry! He came to say adieu! It was a dream dreamt together, he couldn't leave it incomplete! He came back, to say, what she'd longed to hear...
This was, however, not the business.
***
He had showed up again. After making clear of what he had come to say, after walking away back into the abyss, without a word of farewell, after a considerable amount of time, just when her mind switched to finding her way forward, just when she decided to dispel all the phantoms of past, he showed up again. No Muse invoked can aid with accurate words which would justly define the emotions that ran through her like wild blizzards. The array of dull, melancholic evening stars assigned to look over her, suddenly brightened and cheered. He heard her silent cry! He came to say adieu! It was a dream dreamt together, he couldn't leave it incomplete! He came back, to say, what she'd longed to hear...
This was, however, not the business.
There he was. Again. What brought him back, she didn't know. Neither did she ask. Such are the fears of people in love, they don't say what is needed to be said lest they be swept off their feet. Lest their fancy crumple into tiny irreparable pieces; oblivious for how in complete ruin it already is.
The expression he wore had the same color that had always had her pray earnestly for him. His voice had the same impact that melted her heart every time she'd hear it. The anger of despair that she was holding in herself since so long, evaporated with the first note of his voice that she was closely familiar with. How long had it been since she last wallowed in its warmth? It swelled her heart. It was love; an overpowering spell. But where the sapling of her young love was still standing stout and grand, the missing pieces and the numerous intricate wounds his absence had given to the heart ached all the more. How were they to heal all at once? There was no denying that he has been in pain. But she was in no less. And to tell the truth, hers was greater than his in totality; for she bore in her the pain of her brokenness as well of his suffering.
Of his disappearance, he said it was for good. Of his disregard he said it was her illusion. Of his attention he said it was divided and of his heart, he said it was in torment. Of her tears he said they were august pearls but of his suffering he said it was greater. Of his life, he said it wasn't easy but on its details he said he's vague. The new information didn't suit the previous; just as the previous didn't suit the prior. Just as none had suited the initial. He advocated to resume; but of silence and hurtful actions of past, he couldn't remember. He said naivety, of her suggestion to formally involve the sacred trees; but of his priorities, he said they're sorted. Of his love he said it was true; but of where she stands, he said nothing...
His words however provided only a partial insight into a much more complex story. The heart that had been so much in love however reasoned, that stories are all complicated. They are all dark in their own way. It was love, and love is anything but blind in nature. She had loved him in all her senses with all her genuineness. His words, like all other times, were heart warming; she thawed, like a snow flake liquefy on the tip of a finger. But she could also see and feel, how going back was not easy. What remained behind? The memory of days of bliss and euphoria with him on her side was overshadowed by that of torment she had spent all alone waiting for him. Must he not be told of every single day she had spent dying for him? Must he not be questioned for his faulty facts and contradictory statements? Must he not be informed of every question and every ridiculing remark that came her way over the course of his absence? He must; but he wasn't. And the heart suggested again, bringing up the same feeling of tenderness that had had her take his hand despite all his flaws -- it was of no importance of what he had been beside of what he said he will be to her. He was given a chance once; she was beginning to think of giving one again. But adhering to certain limits she was strongly bound to, she resorted to silence, which has always meant so much, if only it was understood. She was bound by the barrier of legitimate right. If he can put others before her and blatantly remind her the insignificance of her position in his life, what claim then, was she to make of herself on him? If he had walked away once breaking all vows; would he not walk away again? The battle of need continued; in the meantime however, her silence was only misinterpreted like every other time. He, who spoke of intimacy, was now suddenly accusing her. He, who had just returned, disappeared again. And the array of stars, lost its glow of self illumination...
And thus, love was lost; somewhere between not saying what was meant to be said, and not understanding what should've been easily understood. Love was lost, somewhere between hiding the most important truth and projecting false accusations. He left her. Stranded. All on her own. And then came back accusing her that she wasn't there for him. Who knew, the kinds of love can be so shallow as well at times.
His words however provided only a partial insight into a much more complex story. The heart that had been so much in love however reasoned, that stories are all complicated. They are all dark in their own way. It was love, and love is anything but blind in nature. She had loved him in all her senses with all her genuineness. His words, like all other times, were heart warming; she thawed, like a snow flake liquefy on the tip of a finger. But she could also see and feel, how going back was not easy. What remained behind? The memory of days of bliss and euphoria with him on her side was overshadowed by that of torment she had spent all alone waiting for him. Must he not be told of every single day she had spent dying for him? Must he not be questioned for his faulty facts and contradictory statements? Must he not be informed of every question and every ridiculing remark that came her way over the course of his absence? He must; but he wasn't. And the heart suggested again, bringing up the same feeling of tenderness that had had her take his hand despite all his flaws -- it was of no importance of what he had been beside of what he said he will be to her. He was given a chance once; she was beginning to think of giving one again. But adhering to certain limits she was strongly bound to, she resorted to silence, which has always meant so much, if only it was understood. She was bound by the barrier of legitimate right. If he can put others before her and blatantly remind her the insignificance of her position in his life, what claim then, was she to make of herself on him? If he had walked away once breaking all vows; would he not walk away again? The battle of need continued; in the meantime however, her silence was only misinterpreted like every other time. He, who spoke of intimacy, was now suddenly accusing her. He, who had just returned, disappeared again. And the array of stars, lost its glow of self illumination...
And thus, love was lost; somewhere between not saying what was meant to be said, and not understanding what should've been easily understood. Love was lost, somewhere between hiding the most important truth and projecting false accusations. He left her. Stranded. All on her own. And then came back accusing her that she wasn't there for him. Who knew, the kinds of love can be so shallow as well at times.
Euphoria was no more. All that little confidence of ever knowing him withered away with the dreary winds. The grey had gone from the sky. It was blank, yet occupied by the lustrous brilliance of queen moon who seemed to have won the battle of envy; for her nemesis was drained of all her radiance she had initially acquired in the journey. She stretched out her hand, hoping for the strands of silver to fall on her palms... But all she saw and heard was an echo; an echo of emptiness. Her hands were empty, so was her heart, so was her soul. Pain pricked - dejavu filled the air - and down came rolling her august pearls, which bore in them the deepest of her unanswered prayers. She had spent seasons waiting for something that was never meant to come. She protected with all her might, a promise that was given in haste only to be forgotten. She kept alive in her heart, memory of a love, that was tinged with lies. All in vain. Because it was love. And love is said to seldom reveal the concrete that lies beneath the ceramic.
And now it was time. To bury, what was not yet dead. And put an end to a soul shattering drama. Having sealed the letter with the moisture of her tears, she sent the Robins to convey it to him.
... She missed his last glimpse. Never learnt of what happened to him from then on, neither let herself find out; because over the course she mastered the art of keeping herself from all that'd add to her pain. In the nature however existed incoherent shadows of the caged birds he believed hanker after him, only somewhere in the pits of his fancy.
And it remained to be contemplated as a transient dream. Which was bound to fade...
***
She had loved, maybe not wisely, but ardently. It was love, and love need not be a punishment for those involved. It doesn't change with circumstances, it doesn't change with seasons; it only gets stronger. Love grows on the roots of faith, and faith can never stem from seeds of lies. That which doesn't make you a better person, that which compels you to lie can't be love; it can only look like it. But it was her love, and it indeed transformed her. It was love, and it did not deserve silence. It deserved, --since not a happy ending-- a graceful closure. And so it was given one. The words had evaporated with the hollow wind, and the only thing she failed to do was forgive. He showed out of nowhere, handed her a dream all by himself, and then ruthlessly snatched it away when it was just young and innocent, tearing her world apart. The realization that he didn't consider her worthy of the truth broke her heart. He betrayed, not only her, but an innocent rosemary bud too, who she would've loved just as much as she loved him, if only he had trusted her enough. Because it was her love, and it would've encompassed not only him but all who would've come along with him. He denied her the right to decide for herself. He kept her in the dark and told false tales. The pain had been incomprehensibly great; and forgiveness was too early to ask. It did not dispel the shadows of agony completely; it only lessened it. It did not remove the memory, it only concealed it. It would have been a betrayal to her past - though short, yet beautiful - had she looked at it with woe. For it was love, and it was true as long as it lasted.
The soft clouds had gathered, sending down a soothing shower, that only came as a reminder of last summer when a powerful prayer was sent up to the heavens; when her journey had begun. It was the first rain of spring that had come to add final strokes to her unfinished portrait. She soaked it in her bones, feeling her soul standing miles, gazing at her in awe. Who knew, a heart so small can bear so much?
And this is only the beginning...
