Beauty is in the Eyes of the Beholder

I'm not exactly someone you'd call hot. Don't have the body for it. Perhaps not the face either- so I believe. I'm not pretty- I completely miss the mark of charm- so I seem to think. I'm not ugly either, even though I've said I am out loud a hundred thousand times.

No. Not quite any of those. I suppose you could call me plain. Yes, that seems about right.

Then again, who am I really? Inside I feel like a sloppy blob of nothing. Sometimes I feel like a bird that's broken free of her cage. The wind, that races itself, carefree, least bothered. I feel like a mountain, the highest point in the land. People scale me just to feel a wee bit superior for the lesser mortals lay before them. They feel supreme. I feel like the sun rise, glowing. The sun set, calming. I feel like twilight, yes. Twilight. Serenity
I feel like a moon goddess. Radiant as ever. Like the stars, forever twinkling

If you look deep inside, you'll see it all. But only if you look. For inside me, all the wonders of nature brew. The whispering leaves, the budding fruit. The flowing streams, the dancing flowers.

Yes, if you look into my eyes, they'll swallow you up and lead you to my world. A world where everything thrives, where everything else grows. I have my conflicts, the occasional tsunami, earthquake. Some more devastating than others.

A tree might fall, lightning may strike. My world may crumble into dust.

But then, the overcast sky clears, and the wind will blow away insignificant particles to reveal the grass, much greener than before. The sky smiles down on you. You're alright.

I have my storms. Sometimes, the rage is beyond my control. The sun may burn you, beyond your ability to withstand it. Or I might make you shiver, for the snow may drown you. You may freeze, if the warmth doesn't find you.

But when it does, you'll be new. Glistening, glowing. Bright with many ideas, with new hope.

The dew will fall on the leaves, and the day will be calm again.

Yes, I'm plain.
But within me, beauty is at its epitome, or so I will always believe.

The Ripple

Zoning out becomes rather obvious when you’re among this hoard of people who will NOT stop laughing. Then, your mind’s eye awakens, and you’re so lost its crazy. You laugh anyway- just so they won’t know that you really weren’t listening.

You take a breath, and smile a smile that’s from ear to ear. You fake the laughter, you get ahead of yourself. You’re glowing. They fall for it, not a care in the world. But your eyes let on more. . .

Someone looks at you, that moment when you’re not smiling anymore. Your smile slips, just a little, falls by a millimetre or so, and you’re caught. You catch their eye, in that moment, they know. And you look away, unable to get a hold of yourself again. Your phone rings, you excuse yourself, step out to answer it. It wasn’t anybody- just your excuse to get some fresh air.

You lean against the wall, your head tilted back, as you look upward, toward the overcast sky. You take in a deep breath, the stench of the city, the smell of a stranger or few, cigarettes, booze, and then . . . the calming wind. The breeze . . . that carries with it the scent of a daisy. So soulful. So calming . . . so soothing.

You hear the door open, and you’re on your guard. Your friend walks up to you. . .

“What’s taking so long?”

You didn’t realize a half hour passed by. You apologize, and tell them you’ll be back in a few minutes. You just need some breathing space. They look at you, unsure of whether or not to leave you by yourself. You usher them in, smiling right through, letting on that your life is perfect, even though it feels anything BUT perfect. You grin some more, the glow’s overwhelming. They believe you. They’re their nonchalant selves again. You sigh in relief.

You take a short walk; sit by the window sill of some random insignificant shop. You reflect.

What brought you here? Why is it “here”? With “these” people? You hardly know them, it’s been just a while, hardly enough, and you’re spending every waking moment with them. They barely know you; most of them probably don’t even care. You’re too well known, for all sorts of reasons. Some good. Some notoriously bad.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t seem like anything matters anymore. I’m just here. I guess, ‘because I have to be. 

Perhaps the lamest excuse ever, but it cannot be helped.

I’m an eighteen year old, living with her best friend in a one room PG, in a city known not to me by culture, or history. By people, or scenery.

Yet, I have been led here. Life, my life, has led me here, so here I am. I’ll embrace it. This isn’t what I want to write about though. I want to write about the void that is thriving within my body. The void that is slowly beginning to spread from the centre of my being to the rest of my being. . . eating at me, like a parasite, it’s host.

The emptiness, that battles with my heart. My heart, giving up, slowing down. My pulse, beating, quickly, and then, dying . . . suddenly, lifeless, soulless.

I'm here, physically. Very much present.

My mind wanders, though. In different directions. It spirals out of my control. Like it isn’t mine TO control. It heads north, south, east and west. It heads north east. South west. And it refuses to pay any heed to where it’s headed. It steers itself, like the wind. It pays not any attention to the sails, and the sails are blown over. It has no need for them. It doesn’t want anything to do with them. It needs not any support. It has itself.

It wants nothing else.

It needs . . . nothing else.

Like the water that begins when a glacier melts, distributaries meeting their tributaries . . . that flow into the vast ocean. There’s a direction, but there are currents that fight them. 

There are external factors, which change their course over time.

There are instances, they are blocked, where they have to weather down the rock, or 

evaporate from it.

Thoughts, however, do not evaporate. They fade away, till they come back. Thoughts always come back. In some form or the other. Knowledge, changes, with the amount of information you grasp. It does not exist, when in vacuum. Your perceptions are only based on what you know.

I base my life, on what I already know.

Hearsay is a dangerous thing.

But experience . . . is vile.

Yet, experience, is what guides us. Through thick and thin, up and down.

Through life.

And experience, changes.

For change . . . like dad always says. . Is the only constant thing in life?

Change.

I wonder what it’s like to be dead.

Will I be lost in oblivion forever?

Or will I be given a choice between ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’? Is there a heaven, a hell?

Will I float, in the sky, just above this world, and look over my loved ones, and my not so 

loved ones. . . over people I do not know, will never know? Might never know?

Will I float amongst the stars, shining as bright as them? Will I talk to them, or will I whisper 

to the leaves?

Will I join the wind? Or will I be one with the water?

Will I be a leaf? Or a tree? Perhaps a bird . . . ?

Perhaps, nothing?

Maybe death IS the end.

Maybe, it’s more.

But maybe . . . it’s nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The calming breeze is ice cold now. It makes me shiver. Makes my hairs stand on end, and my spine becomes ram rod straight. My half hour has passed by. The monotony of this world is calling me.

So, I shall leave now. I shall do my duty and attend to the world, for it is time. Time to put on 

the mask of an automaton, yet, still fake laughter, and glow like I’m the sun.

I know not any other way. So, this is the way I shall continue with.

I shall be the sun, the moon, the stars.

I shall be the wind, the water, the earth.

I shall be the leaves, and the trees, and I shall whisper . . . every passing moment. I shall 

whisper.

To you. And to anyone who wishes to listen.

I will whisper.

And hope. . . . you listen.