She – The unfolding.

When I look out of the window, I see the blue sky, and the vast green meadow with the summer trees standing majestically, as though they have a story to tell me. The squirrels as always running around, dancing with the wind, that blows in rhythm, creating music along the corridors created by the walk ways. This city is strange, it has tall sky scrappers standing tall reaching out to the heaven, and then these green meadows and walk ways that has been devoured by old couples walking hand in hand, sometimes resting in the benches, reading their favorite novels.

She was sitting with her sketch book, wearing a green top, blending to the greenery outside my window. Sketching something, I hoped was of a last leaf, like in O’Henry’s short story, the leaf of hope, the leap of faith,to life to happiness. She sometimes held my hand in my sleep, and I acted as though am fast asleep, hiding my tears of joy and affection that brims out of my inner self, like from a deep trench in the ocean, waiting to explore like a volcano, undiscovered, unheard off.

I watched her from the corner of my eye, her curls were messy, but she loved her long curls, she was often proud of it, and played with it as though she wanted all of us to notice, every now and then. Can I get you a chocolate bar, she asks sometimes, I would politely say yes, and devour the sweetness of the chocolate just like her soothing presence. She drew a man and a woman holding hands, her world where everybody is happy and together. A dream we live for, we have lived for, the one she makes us believe in. She makes it all green and wet and  never muggy, but fresh.

When I stood outside looking in, she made me be inside, and look away. Staring at the sunset and sunrise with her made me feel to be there and not away. To stay and not run away. The infinite facets of love as I feel it, has made me sink and rise, rock and still, run and sleep, live and die. The silhouette of her curls and round nose and chubby fingers made me realize, with all my wisdom and idiosyncrasies, life is what she stands for. Hope and dream. I have to follow her, the mystery of the life she pumps out.   She has become the dream I hold on to, her love with not a trace of disguise. In her I wrap my future, my dreams, my old age, my death. The pent-up rivers of void is conquered by the steam boat she becomes, gushing against every odds, every tide.

She is life, the mystery, the unfolding of my existence.
She…

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