His Musings

To describe her, I’d have to ask you to close your eyes and imagine that solitary creek behind the rocks. Where the sea rests for a while, in shallow, undisturbed pools. The rocks obstruct the sun, and pebbles and shells abound. The breeze caresses your face. And there, just before sunset, you witness something holy. Something you’ll relive a hundred times in your life. In morbid moments, the memory will take your breath away. For all the moments you’re on your knees, defeated and withdrawn, you’ll go back to that one moment. And gather a strength you never knew resided in you.



For me, that’s what she is. Her immeasurable kindness and her childish glee overwhelm me, time and again. She loves grey overcast skies over green cliffs. The lull before the storm. Watching her face break out into a smile is sheer ecstasy. A smile that starts from the lips, shines in her eyes and makes her glow. For the world, she might be gauche. Her spirit is untamed; she was made for open fields and glorious sunsets. For hours of solitude. Not loud opulence, but magnificence that dances on the fringe of insanity. The same dance that connects the stars, makes the embers burn brighter and unleashes itself in droplets over the parched earth. She’s shown me that obstinacy is her answer to my wrath. I’ve met my match.



What more can I say? She’s chosen me, hasn’t she? Like the princess in the myth, she’s chosen a beggarly, ancient lout whose third eye spews fire. Someone who wouldn’t know how to love. She tells me that it isn’t something you learn, it’s there, deep in you. It’s only the deepest tremor that lets you express it. And the funny part is, I believe her. When she says that she’s mine not because we’re meant to be, but because she wouldn’t want it any other way. How can I say no, to a woman who loves my wrath as much as my calm? And suddenly I feel I'm God, God of everything I see.