“She’s a lover. She’s one of a kind”, this is what everyone heard about her. The legend says the light from her eyes kept the sun alive, her beauty was only comparable to the goddess that created her, her skin smelled like the pure moonlight and her hair tangled the stars in it. She wasn’t one of us, she was a lover. A lover who could take on the world without shedding a tear. A lover who could bring colour to palest of things. A lover who could animate the inanimate. Oh! how much I wanted to experience the phenomenon of looking at her.
It was early morn, the sky is ready to embrace the light as she raises her arms to join her hands with the air rushing through the crevices between her fingers. She takes a look over her shoulder, she wants to be alone. Her eyes are full of morning dew and the eyelashes can succumb any second now. As she starts to pray the weight falls from her eyes, the skin starts to shed to become a blanket for the past. The misty eyes, the foggy lips have now started to filter the surroundings. She inhales the fumes of sorrow which are slowly revolving around her, creating a perfect motion for her to feel as if she’s drowning in her self made pool of grief.
She’s murmuring the chants as the excess skin from her cracked lips falls to the ground and the blood that is left behind evaporates into thin air like a spirit. Her feet is cut, her back is hurt. Every little inch of her is suffering and breaking as the prayer comes out from her mouth. The immortal angels are dying with her every tear and the gods are mourning.
I think she is tired, her body is not reacting to love, what’s happening?
Her soul is now a sheet of paper with scribbles of her broken dreams. The dreams which made her feel more close to us humans cause she wasn’t ‘one of us’. The broken promises and lies kept swirling and tossing her soul and her body from one corner to another. With a hope of finding a safer corner than the previous. She didn’t know that with every toss the fall was taking a nibble out of her soul. She needed a cushion, something gentle to fall onto. A cushion made of thousand snowflakes woven with pieces of her own skin(because nothing would be as gentle as this).
The days are a lot less brighter now, the nights don’t have that same old cool breeze but, I know she’ll soon break her fall, her soul will rejuvenate like the birth of the biggest star and her heart will float again in the weightlessness of her emotions, she’ll break her shell to fly again. She’ll become even more beautiful(if that’s even possible) with this rebirth.
Because she’ll always be a LOVER and not one of US.