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The story of a girl

1:05 AM

The story of a girl

Someone important to her once said, “He who is worth your tears wouldn’t make you cry.” And at that time, she merely laughed it off and said, “Yeah, he who makes me cry shall be dumped because no guy ever makes me cry and gets away with it that easily. For is it not said that 'Heaven has no Rage like Love to Hatred turn’d, Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d' ?"

But now as she is safely ensconced in the privacy of her mind where she can roam and wander down her hallways of thoughts, to stretch and explore the limits of boundaries, she wonders, “If he is not worth my tears, than is he worthy of my heart?” And she sits down and ponders on how much longer she is going to laugh off remarks like this before she finally accepts the truth that it requires courage, not in miniscule amounts, but in doses sufficient enough to make that leap of faith which puts human beings a level above their primate cousins in the jungle.

What are the ingredients to the magical potion that boils and bubbles in a cauldron over the fire? Where does she find that lamp which houses the genie that gives her 3 wishes? And where is that fairy godmother that grants her heart’s desire?

She doesn’t know the answer to all that. If she did, she’d be able to set up a factory and bottle joy for humankind at a price tag. But at least this time, she knows what she wants. Or so she thinks. She wants Prince Charming to come charging up on a white horse and slay her dragons for her and they’ll go off riding into the sunset happily ever after.

And now she knows that everything comes back to where it begins. All those webs she spun, those games she played, teetering on the edge of a crevasse, swaying on the sharp point of the knife. Never knowing what was coming around the corner, if the slight gust of wind would blow her over the edge. Its all coming back to her in full force. This time, she's now the one ensnared in silky webs, swaying so precariously on the edge of nothingness, bouncing up and down whichever way the line goes. And she know its too late to do anything. Her safety line is already out of her hands. All she can do is to cling on to the surface of the rock and hope for the best. And that she will be safe.

Oh, what fools we mortals are when it come to love!

Or the thing which we correctly or otherwise call as love. She really thinks that sometimes, we need to stop and see if we are truly in love or are we in love with the idea of being in love.

If you have it [love], you don't need to have anything else, and if you don't have it, it doesn't matter much what else you have . - Sir James M. Barrie -

And she thinks, "How true. For is it not said, that what is life without love?"

But a question emerges from the depth of her mind, "What makes us humans want to fall in love and chance the bitter agony of heartbreak?"

We all want to fall in love.
Why?
Because that experience makes us feel completely alive,
where every sense is heightened,
and every emotion is magnified.
Our everyday reality is shattered
and we are flying into the heavens.
It may only last a moment, an hour, or an afternoon,
but that doesn't diminish its value,
because we are left with memories
that we treasure for the rest of our lives. - From the movie The Mirror Has Two Faces -

And she thinks, "Ahh, being in love is like living life with all the colours on. Before this, it was just black, white and grey. Love makes the air fresher, the water sweeter and the singing of birds more melodious. So that's the beauty and power of love."

But, doubt comes creeping in like a thief in the night, "Is love forever and what does forever mean? And if love isn't forever, what then? Is love permanent or is it everchanging?"

Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration. - D.H. Lawrence -

And it dawns on her that love's blossom does blossom unexpectedly without warning. And if she doesn't pluck it while it is fresh, it will wither away. And it does no good as a dried flower, a keepsake in an album. Except that this time, she doesn't want the blossom to bloom and wither in a brief hour. She wants the blossom to remain fresh for as long as it can be. To ask it to be for all eternity would be something she dare not reach for yet.

And as she writes this, she feels a weight lifted from her shoulders. And she looks in the mirror and sees a reflection. Eyes which rarely shed tears now glisten with them. Cheeks which have not felt the salty trace of a rolling tear for ages, now moistened slightly with them. Her eyes, which had never once had eyebags, now hold the faint dark shadows that tell of restless nights and toss-turning sleep. How strange, yet how familiar this face is.

Written on Tuesday, May 08, 2007; 1:05 AM

Flip My Past:

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Provoked

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