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Simplicity and Complicity |
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[Sooo I would tell you what this particular story is about, but I want...if I get any commentary on it...for it to be with only the knowledge of the story from the reader's perspective and with little in the way of commentary from me. It's a short idea that I've been wanting to play with for awhile and that's all I'll say on the matter. Hope you all enjoy ^_^ ]
Her arms wrapped around me, softness brushing up against the brittle browness of my own skin. She never seemed afraid of my appearance or the way I stood, always overbearing and never kind. Perhaps she saw the inner softness in me, beyond the jaded rings of time so settled inside of my body. I could not help but love her. I had loved many before this young one before I felt her frailty fight my strength. So many beautiful young girls and boys who saw no life inside of me. I loved them because I had too, they were charges that I kept my eyes on. So many eyes fixated on young children.
My eyes are green. My skin is brown, brittle and to many seems more deathly than corpses. But my eyes are green, so many shades of green from grass green to jade and emerald. Jewels, precious jewels. That is what she always compared my eyes too and while her strange awareness of their separate, but connected life amused my soul her comparisons are what caused my own admiration. She could speak the most beautiful words, where I would have to remain silent and still and stiff. No wonder so many have forgotten that I too was always alive.
Not this girl. Oh how those beautiful eyes of her own would gaze at me all day with an emotions washing over them that I had ceased to recognize. In my younger years I would have called it love. That word now has selfish meanings to one such as myself, and I know that my love for her is a selfish love. I would keep her for myself if I had any way too, so that her eyes would always gaze upon my life and so that her pine-sweet voice would always describe me and sing to only me.
Only me.
I know of course, being older that I cannot keep this one to myself, her love is a boundless, endless love that she feels for all the world. And I....so alone....watch as she loves me so freely. There are times I've thought to hate her. So skinny, so few rings exist inside of her and there is no way for her to understand. That young one. They always think they know better, jumping and always moving and running and climbing. Oh the climbing. I could tell you tales of the climbing. Children, young ones, they never do it right. No that they should do it at all, not that anyone should do it at all, but they do. And they do it wrong.
Perhaps her love is so free because of her age. I doubt this more than I doubt my own eternal life. One day I will end. And her love will always be boundless no matter how many rigid rings grow inside of her.
I know this because I have seen her cry at my feet. I, silent and strong, watched boundless joy collapse into constricted loneliness. I, helpless to do a thing for this girl, watched her beg me for salvation, beg me for love. Beg me. Beg me. Beg...me...
What made her think I could give love? I, someone so selfish as to speak endlessly about themselves.
That is the way of us older ones. Always talking about our younger rings, and always talking about 'I'.
She would love me for this anyway.
Her arms today are so free and so happy. I begin got think that today must have been an alright day for her.
And then it happens.
The young one begins to cry again. This has been the way of things for a few days now.
Someone tortures her heart, attempts to cage it and ultimately ruin her. I watch her tears flow so sweetly down her apple-flushed cheeks. She looks more beautiful to me in these moments of weakness, proving her life with her pain. The gentle stream of tears from her eyes are proof of her life.
Where is the proof of mine when I cannot feel as this young one feels?
I, just this once, wish she would climb and hide inside of me.
If only this once I would forgive a young one for climbing all wrong and would wrap my arms around her. My own tears, sticky and sweet would cry silently for her damaged heart. So strong. So beautiful.
I would prove my life for this strange girl.
This girl who still loves the person who causes her to fall at my feet, because that is how sacred her love is.
 Evelie Harte · Mon Jul 12, 2010 @ 11:53pm · 0 Comments |
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