Venus

Her brilliance astounds
my very spirit.
I am a slight silhouette
in ever-changing ambiance
caressing scorching embers
and burnt strands.
Here my dreams are forevermore.
My soul possess a fire
greater than the sun's.
Fire goes nowhere without light.
Passion will be made known.
Light will be cast into black holes.
The Messenger is in my sight.
The magnificent world
I scarcely eluded
is a mere step behind.
I'd rather be consumed by this air
than to ever set foot back there.

Daybreak

A little before dawn, I slip out of the never-changing, sleeping house. My footprints are as quiet as a timid little mouse. I am careful not to wake the sleeping wraiths that inhabit the moth-eaten walls of the structure. There is just enough light to tell me that the world is still brumous and abundant with darkness. Ignoring, the bloodcurdling screech of the sliding doors, I step outside and climb precariously onto the roof. The shingles are kind this morning. They do not threaten to become loose and let me fall to my death. The dawn becomes exuberant. There is still time before her shining form rises above those craggy hills in the distance. The departing darkness welcomes me. I feel it in the soft, gentle whooshing of the air. My eyes find the heavens and see the celestial orbs still perceptibly luminous. Nodding my head in time to the music my ears, I struggle to seek the imaginary lines that join the stars and present direction to lost ships that only seek land. As time carelessly meanders along, so does the darkness. The clouds are lit and now they burn. They are on fire. The inferno is a beguiling pink-orange. Resplendent. I wave goodbye to the stars as they begin to fade. I promise to see them again soon. They wink back ever so sweetly. The sun is gorgeous today. Rays of her brilliance flare out and paint the canvas of the sky with bright, hopeful, solacing colors. I remove my earbuds as the birds awake. I hear their song. They sing this to welcome the sun. Or, perhaps they sing to their young. The darkness has all but taken its leave.  The sun persists in rising. I feel her rays begin to touch me. I breathe in her warmth and feel it resonate within my bones.

Ephemeral

    How often does this happen? You hardly pause what you are doing as you wave goodbye. You barely get out a smile before you are swallowed up by phone calls and work-related issues and just your busy life. You never say the words because you assume that he knows them. Perhaps he does. You go about your daily business. Quotidian events get to you more today then other days. You're impatient and critical. You don't know why. The banter that goes on around you seems asinine and utterly lacking in relevance. You have the strangest feeling inside, a feeling that makes your stomach turn now and then. This too, you cannot explain nor comprehend. You watch the clock more often than necessary. Each tick seems the length of one lifetime. You can't help but wonder if there is something you forgot to do or a person you forgot to wish "Happy Birthday." You know there is something about today that is just wrong.
    The time for returning home rolls around at last. You expect to feel relief. Instead, the uneasiness grows and becomes suddenly immense. Your heart races as you get in the old wheezing car. Your mind houses thoughts that are practically cyclones. Your thoughts spin round and round not making sense. You can't seem to connect the dots. As your car tyres kiss the driveway, it hits you so squarely. Panic rises from your stomach, your heart sinks to the ground. You throw the car door open and step out into the cool air of dusk. When you call for him, silence is the only answer. Your knees begin to quiver because your body reacts quicker than your mind. The reaction came before your mind pieced the puzzle together. You force yourself to think the three simple, elementary words :

He is gone.

Three simple words... but they rupture your heart leaving it bleeding and seemingly irreparable. Ignoring the truth, you search. With trembling knees, you wander the streets. Your eyes try to see through the unassailable darkness. You scream for him but all you hear are the echoes of your own hoarse, agonized voice. You look in every nook and cranny but you don't need to because you're absolutely positive that he has left. Mechanically, you unlock the door, step inside the dark house and just stare into space for a long, indefinite time. Finally, you flip on the lights, visit the cupboard and snatch a wine glass. As the red elixir slides down your throat, your numb mind wanders. Why? Why did he leave? Was it something you did wrong? Why was there nothing to explain it? There was no note stuck to the fridge or left by the phone. He was just gone as if his existence was a mere conjuring of your imagination. Of course, you always expected this to happen sooner or later but after years of felicity, the thought had all but disappeared. Like so many, you had overestimated the amount of time you would be allowed. Now though, all you have are pictures you can hardly bear to look at. As you crawl under the covers, you ask of no one, "Why didn't he at least say goodbye?" Memories hack at the walls you swiftly built to maintain your sanity. All you see when you glance around the empty abode is where he should be. You keep hoping he will return. You wait by the door all the time, just staring at it, thinking he will barge in and take you in his arms like he used to. You wait throughout long winter nights when the hearth emits warmth that doesn't touch your heart. It is then impossible for you to imagine a greater pain.

    He was an ephemeral gift. When the desperation of awaiting his return has all but faded, when there is not even a glimmer of a possibility that he would return, when clarity looks you in the eye, you are left with a dull ache that you know will always be there. It is a part of you, a scar untouchable by time or reason. It will be a part of you for eternity.

Thoughts

Today, I visited the mall. I kept my tired eyes on my feet as I paced, watched as they caressed the gleaming floor. With earbuds snug in my ears, filling my mind with the music from my favorite artists, I was utterly and contentedly in my own world. Oblivion is a punishment but this kind of oblivion was an escape. It was salvation from the loud bedlam of banter that always accompanied a crowd.
After half an hour or so, I looked up from my world, and put away the earbuds. And for the first time, I actually looked at everything. I let my eyes take in everything from the colors used for shop banners to the type of jewelry this passer by wore. I perused the items behind the window of a store that didn't seem to receive many visits from eager customers, saw the sales lady sitting behind the counter, filing her already perfect nails. Mostly, I was taken aback by the flood of conversation that seemed to arise from all locations, all around me. It was as if I was thrown into a sea of people where I was a mere drop of water trying to make a sound while the current tossed me around. It was disconcerting but pretty intriguing (at least, I found it that way). Then, I began to stop looking at things. I looked at people. Certainly I didn't look at them in a creepy way or make it seem like I was some crazed stalker. I took fleeting glances but in those momentary looks, my mind tried was overcome by another flood of thought, of questions, of curiosity. As I took fleeting glances at the company I was surrounded by, I couldn't help but wonder what they were made of. I wondered what made them who they were today, what made them dress the way they dress, talk the way they talk, smile the way they smile, walk the way they walk. I racked my brain, trying to figure out what were the sort of materials and hues used in weaving the arras of their lives. I wondered how many of them were content inside. Did they have all they wanted in life? Were their hearts still wandering the streets at night looking for their better halves? What fears plagued their minds? What sort of painful conundrums and experiences shaped them into who they are today? The old man holding hands with his true love. Such a happy couple they looked like. Were they always happy? The mother juggling her screaming children. Was she a single mother with no help? Was it difficult to be her? The man with the briefcase and tie. Did he know what God intended for him? Did he do everything he was told back when he was a kid? School. High school. College. Job. Was he happy with how his life turned out? Did he want more? Had he been forced to surrender his artistic desires to pursue something people deemed more worthy? Did he ever stop to smell the roses? Certainly he has heard that saying but has he literally done it before? Has he literally paused and take pleasure in nature's little gifts such as the smell of a blooming, healthy, crimson rose? The wispy child holding his precious plushy. Would he be famous one day? Would he change the world in ways impossible to imagine at present?
Then I wondered what they thought when they glanced at me. Do they wonder who I am? Me, the unassuming girl wandering aimlessly, pushing through the crowd in a hurry to go nowhere.

Unseeable

My eyes, of their own volition, flickered to him. Like all the other times, I was taken aback by everything about him. His eyes were an uncommon shade of green. I rarely have cause to stare into them for more than a few seconds. But, in those precious seconds in which I stare into those pools, are the most precious seconds of the day. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. I cannot adequately describe them but, it was like seeing a whole new universe ringed by emerald irises. His eyes always gave away his emotions. When he was elated, ecstatic, his eyes would light up like a kid's face when receiving candy. When he was troubled, tenebrous, the life in those emerald eyes would be vacuumed into the atmosphere, coldness and emptiness taking its place. When he was enraged or passionate, a perceptible blaze would burn in the hearths of those eyes. They unconsciously told split second stories to me every single day.

His smile was a different story. An assembly of perfect teeth that said what the mouth could not. He had various types of smiles. There was the one he wore as a polite response to a hello. That one said "Have a nice day!" When I was lucky enough to receive anything at all, that was the smile I got. There was the gloomy smile. The smile that resembled the sun desperately clawing at the grey clouds, trying to shine through and persevering as if his life depended on it. This smile never reached his eyes. When my eyes conveyed this to my utterly overworked heart, a disjointed rhythm was produced. Then there was the smile he gave her. That smile was hands down the most beautiful smile in all of history. That smile set my world burning a gorgeous inferno as it lit everything up, turning omnipresent darkness into brilliance. He wore this smile every time she passed by him. He donned this gorgeous expression whenever she took his hand or gave him a peck on the cheek. A green flame burned long and dull in my tired chest. I wondered idly if she deserved that smile. Had she loved him from the first second she saw him? At first sight? Did she notice how that smile would touch his eyes and set the atmosphere a trifle happier? I did.

He breezed by again, today. The perfume of his presence engulfed me as I watched the lanky boy incognizant of his beauty slowly stride down the hallways. Would he ever know the way my heart yearned to break from my chest beat in harmony with his? Would he know the way my world lighted up like daybreak when he was near? He was him and I was... well, I was me. The slight figure foolishly afraid of speaking the words of her heart.

Sight

The cecity has left me,
advanced to realms
I never wish to see.
Now, I revel in You,
in sunshine, in rhyme
and last but not least,
in once upon a time.

16th Dec

You would assume that I would be morose as it is now the end of the short-lived journey. In all honesty, what happened was that I was pointed in the right direction and given a gentle nudge. The path I was shown was rapturous yet, arduous. I would spend my days walking along that trail. Sometimes I would be skipping mirthfully, other times I would be trudging wearily.
I am on the path now, far from the end. Gazing at the dull ceiling, I surprise myself with my eagerness. This is only beginning.

Forever

There is an old man. His body is the victim of time. Wrinkles decorate his skin and laugh lines are prominent. He smiles at pedestrians and with his benevolent eyes, he wishes them a good night. He paces the boulevard in a leisurely fashion. His eyes roam the fiery yet lulling sunset. Birds fly in flocks back to their home tree like a swarm of bees to honey. He watches silently but with evident pleasure. The clouds are painted with a carefree hand in varying shades of nostalgic beauty. Like every other day, he removes the drawbridge that prevents his memories from frolicking throughout the day. Eventide is the time he gives to those memories. At said time, he lets them flow freely like a vigorous river. They are vibrant and harsh at first and some are even cutting. Then, slowly and ever so gracefully, they become softer. The river flows leisurely as if struggling to match itself to the emotions of the sky. He is able to see each thread in the arras of memories, every event that shaped who he is.
He misses her, the person he used to walk with. There was once a soul he bounded his to. There was once a quirky lover who never failed to bring hope into his life. She had no fear, that woman. She loved swinging at a play ground always claiming that she was flying. She loved the way that spring smelled like flowers. She loved the shooting stars that she wished upon. She loved how honey tasted. She loved way there was never enough popcorn when watching a good movie. She loved the silhouettes that shuffle around the boardwalk. She loved his laugh, his husky laugh that is always accompanied by a smile that she insisted was in synchronicity with sunshine. She loved the sunset. She loved to read stories to the little ones. She used to be a dancer. She had the most dazzling eyes in all the universe. She loved the way their grandchildren hugged her tight when she told them she wouldn't see them for a long time. She loved the way his hand always found hers and how fate never seemed to accomplish keeping them apart. She loved him.
The endless sea of longing is where he dwells. Time has made it easier to navigate the rough waters. It wasn't that the sea became calmer as time wore on, it was more that he learned how to stay afloat, to tread water. On most nights, he calls to the heavens, seeking some form of strength to keep braving storms. Whenever he calls, he is answered and the burden of life is easier to bear. Tonight though, he doesn't call Him. With his heart, he reaches out to her and if he shuts his eyes again, he can feel how close their hearts are. In fact, they are still bounded together. When he begins walking again, he almost sees her in his peripheral vision. He simply smiles to himself as he keeps walking, knowing that if he were to look too closely, the magic would be vacuumed into twilight. He doesn't speak the words for the sound would shatter the flawless silence. He is fleetingly happy. And, on nights like tonight, love is so potent, even ominous death cannot stand in between.

Arduous

Picture this. Just humor me.

You're in a dark tunnel that is dimmer than the darkest twilight you laid your eyes on. You have to keep moving forward. You have to force yourself to find a way out, find a way to the rich happiness your fatigued soul and body so greatly requires. Then, out of nowhere, while you are sitting in the middle of the path and contemplating staying there, a beam of light cuts right through the darkness. The ray slices open the dark like the light streams through the room when one removes the curtains. You can see now. You can see the walls of the tunnel and the blacktop beneath. The light illuminates the world enough for you to see the path to more light. With rekindled determination and anticipation, you push up from the ground, brush gravel from your hands and trudge on. You find yourself hungry for more light, ravenous for it. It is a compulsion. You take off running. You push your lungs until they find difficulty serving your needs. The lack of oxygen only strengthens your will to reach the light. You know you have to keep moving to reach it. You travel around the stray shadows that obstruct the path, only thinking about the reward of reaching the end. The light grows brighter as you sprint and recedes a little for every second you take a beat. Despite the arduous process, the diminishing hope that you'll ever make it, you remind yourself that those are tall hurdles that intend to stumble you and make sure you reside on the ground for eternity. Despite all the drawbacks, the negativity, the desolation that slowly conquers your mind, you know that you must reach the light. For, the world beyond the walls of the tunnel will be brilliant, lustrous, awe-inspiring and significant.

Simply put, I am onto something. I don't know how long it will take to reach the end or if the end will ever be within reach. Nevertheless, I am hopeful for those rapturous days that await me at the end of this seemingly aeonian journey.
I am optimistic. The tunnel has to end somewhere.

This is what happiness looks like!