A Mirror of the Rain (stolen from Inday)

What good is the truth when you have a good story? What good is reality when you can have a much colorful and pleasing version of it? What can you possibly get from knowing something unimportant to anyone? What good is the truth when it only serves as a constant reminder of what ifs and of silent rejection?

Nothing.

It is of no value. It is a totally useless possession that only occupies our souls. It is a parasite that chooses to comfortably settle in us until it has consumed every fiber of our strength. Yet, we treasure it. It is too important to discard. It is too precious to let go of because its roots can never be erased. The wide gap it would create would lead to a permanent space in our identity. And we would be forever torn.

Sometimes we choose to reconstruct it for other’s sake. We add sequins and glitters and papier-mâché adornments, partly to interest others, and partly to convince ourselves. But most of the time, the latter excuse fails.

When we have no one’s attention to get, when we have no audience to mind, the sequins slowly peel off, and the bemusing glitters dust away, and the papier-mâché adornments collapse, and we are left with nothing but a vast silence and the frail beauty of the truth.

We might even try to avoid it and hide from it. We might try to forget it. But usually, we can never manage to do so.

In our solitary dreams, it finds us; its filthy and unwelcoming presence reaches out to us, and we scream a blood curdling scream but no one hears us. Then we wake up, in the brooding stillness of the night when we could not see ourselves, or in the middle of broad daylight, when the sun hurriedly blinds us, and we cry of helplessness and fear.

The inevitable has dawned upon me. And I had no choice but to embrace the monstrosity of truth’s beauty….

The sun was bidding its last farewells to an austere horizon. My face caught a breeze; a lonesome harmony of a lost song came with it. It was ethereal, and it rang in my ear for a moment, or for an eternity.

On my lap, sat my hands, they were cupped against each other, as though protecting a delicate being from being corrupted by a harsh impending reality. I was wearing a garish dress; embedded with sparkling beads of unknown histories - like the story I created to turn my torment into artificial solace.

Several moments passed and I was still looking out into the horizon, now a deep azure almost ruled the horizon. The corner which contained me was already dimming with the sky. And I was still waiting for you.

A gentle rapping came all of a sudden, and it dominated the atmosphere. It was almost illusory, like someone walking on air. But it was building its presence with every daring dive it took. And so a perfect cadence resonated throughout the space.

But in the steady tempo of the rain, a different beat echoed. It was gaining depth with every sound, much like the rain, but stronger. It was approaching the semi-darkness of my existence. And, it was coming for me, the way I have longed for it to.

But I never expected that the bare naked truth would come with it.

The rhythm, your footsteps, halted. And I looked up to meet your face. There was no room for doubt in your expression. Then, you extended your touch towards me, willing for my hand’s embrace to break and join with yours. I have dreamt for it to happen.
Trying my best from cowering, I broke my hand’s union and entwined them with yours. I stood up, and you led me to the perfect clearing, to my dream and to my despair.

The perfect cadence of the rain dance gradually turned into a sweet-scented melody. You gingerly laid my hands to your shoulders, and gently pressed yours against my hips. Then, we drew circles onto the marble floor, so free in form, yet it so perfect in time.

It was like the movies, which I often treat with disdain. It was the part where the lovers turn to more than lovers and when they seem to soar into an unearthly trance. But, that was an acceptable exception; it was the only slow-motion romantic film, which I never anticipated to see the end credits.

I inhaled the perfume of the night to save myself from being saved. The air was a fusion of cinnamon and of an unrelenting coolness of a cloud. I took in as much air as I could with every breath, still, I felt so restricted, my blood pounding cautiously in my veins. Your touch was a whisper to my skin, reverberating in my soul, and sending ripples throughout my being.

My head turned feathery light; it felt like it was going to drift apart with the no recollections of definition. The only imagery in my mind was that of you, and the slow romantic film that I never wanted to end.

Then, the sequins began to peel off, and the glitters began to dust away, and the papier-mâché adornments were collapsing. And I was still there drawing circles on the marble floor with you. I did not flinch nor fidget, I simply found myself dumbfounded. The wind rushed to the minute void between us. And as it did, it delivered a careless whisper, soft yet undeniably audible. The unexpected package contained the truth. The truth contained three words.

I love you.

It was pristine. It was clear. It was bare. I could not take it back anymore. I could not deny it. I was left with no choice but to embrace it. And I did.
Suddenly, I felt so vibrant, so tranquil. Was this the haunting that I was trying to escape for so long? Was this the nightmare that I feared of? It was neither, for it was a dream, a long melodic enchantment that was a delicacy of my own.

I wanted to share it to you. I wanted to tell you that I have, at last, accepted my feelings, my weakness. I looked up to meet your gaze. But I did not see your gaze. I did not see your eyes. I did not see your smile.

It was missing.

Your familiar face was undisturbed. And, it mirrored the same blissful state that I was in. I was confused. I looked further to search for your eyes, to search for logic, and I found them, but they were not with me. As we turned again to complete yet another circle, I saw her. They were with a goddess. They were transfixed with her beauty. She was beyond words. Her beauty was quiet yet it was overpowering that it warped me to an elated state. I peered onto your face for the second time. Again, I did not find you. I knew I never will.

A draft filled the void between us – much wider that I thought at first. The void widened. Then, again, the sequins began to peel off, and the glitters began to dust away, and the papier-mâché adornments were collapsing. And a package was delivered. It contained another truth. The truth, again, contained three inevitable words.

You love her.

The sweet-scented melody tuned into pricking cologne, so taunting that my lungs were threatening to die of losing too much blood. The song was a soft whimper to my ears. We were still circling in time with the song, but I was circling down faster and faster alone, until my head was empty again, gasping for recollections of anything except you, your eyeless face, and the slow romantic film that I wanted to end.

I yearned for the song to stop, to save myself from crashing entirely to the ground.

This was the truth I was escaping. This was the truth that I have turned to stories. This was my haunting. This was my nightmare. This was the end.

The sweet-scented melody twisted to a perfect cadence of a newborn rain. This time, it was piercing through the stillness of insanity.

And I was faced with two truths. I had to accept both of them or the other would be futile. I had to. I chose to.

I swallowed the bitter-tasting potion of that night. I inhaled the piercing breeze of the rain. I listened to the anguished song inside my soul, and it played over and over again.

The rain must end, as the sun must lose. The lyrics soon ran out. The notes soon faded. And we stopped drawing circles on the marble floor. We parted with a void so vast. And the warm embrace was soon forgotten.

The clearing, my dream and my despair, was soon part of the second ago.

It was the truth of my dream that completed me. It was the truth of my despair that broke me. But, they were two different truths. They were two different faces. And I could not have had one without the other. No one could have the sun without the moon and life without death.

I would never be the same anymore, because those two truths are forever part of my identity. I should have seen it coming, but it was inevitable, as everything is.

I would never forget that night, when I drew circles on a marble floor, when I watched the rain turn to song and the song turn to rain. I would never forget that night when I have loved and let go.