I was newly in love with a girl who was scared of the mirror.
A traveller in search for the true meaning of life, I never knew that life was waiting for me right at home.
She was married. And she was happily married. And not to me. But I couldn’t regret that.
Her happiness was evident in the deep dimples on her cheeks that never showed signs of relenting. Her smile would come fast and suddenly, like the sudden bright rays of the sun peeking from behind heavy clouds, and dissipating all gloom. Her smile had that power of illuminating my existence, robbing me of all my despair and grief, and my senses too.
But she never really saw herself in the mirror. She could never understand what I saw in her. Every time she stood before that silvered glass, all she’d see was a thin and lanky girl, with nothing attractive whatsoever, no talents, no looks, nothing.
And I would gape in awe. Sometimes. At other times, I would burst out in anger.
How could she not see what she really was. A brave, beautiful and insightful woman. How easily frustrated she could make me with her denials about herself. And I would become angrier for I couldn’t show her, what she really was, how I beheld her! How I wished I could let her see herself through my eyes. She would never believe that she was beautiful, that I honestly thought so. She didn’t like being praised, she didn’t like being told that she was the light of my life. But she knew I loved her and that’s all she would ever accept from me.
The mystery of it all was that she loved me too. Almost as much as she loved her husband. I knew that. But still it was different. There was something spiritual, almost primal in our strange love story. She couldn’t do without me, like I couldn’t do without her. But there was a difference.
A stark difference in that, that we had never seen each other.
Were we just a figment of our each others’ imaginations? Or did we really exist?
Even if we didn’t, our love did. I know it did. It was written in every word uttered, in every word that spilled out from our hearts. It was there in the mornings when we found solace in each other. It was there in the outraged anger at the injustice towards the other. It was bright in the words we left for the world to see. It was there in how it was us or neither. It was there when we took every single stride together. Her excitement in my achievement, my happiness in hers. Her pride in how I would change the world and my secret pride in how she made the world beautiful. Our co-ordinated actions through out the day, missing the other madly. Our loved shined in every moment that we spent together and away from each other.
But I was a mere human in love with a Goddess, I had my moments of failings too, moments that tarnished the purity of our love. Moments of viciousness, of a murderous intent. Why didn’t I know her first?!
And moments of weakness, when I turned to the other woman in my life. I didn’t love the other as much, but she was there to console, to heal when my love was with her husband. And I capitulated always, out of anger, bitterness and jealousy, and a want for what I didn’t have. Missing her was a pain that made me too human. And impossible to bear!
But she was always there. In my mind, my heart, my soul. This strange world didn’t exist without her.
But I could never have her. And not because she was in love with her husband. There was a much graver problem. An unscalable one. Us. What we were.
P.S. This is a work of fiction. A strange one but still. And should be treated as such.
P.P.S. To Regular Readers- Imagine: If the narrator is actually the writer, then who is the girl? With this in mind, go on read it again! I think the meaning and the gravity of the piece will change remarkably! 😀 Love, G. 😉
P.P.P.S. For those who don’t understand, simply enjoy the post! Others, still need help?? I did say I’ll help! See here! G.:)
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