Spare me the rhetoric, the meaningless diatribes.
She turns halfway from the window, her gaze resting at the silhouetted hallway stretching before her.
Hear yourself. You are here, now…living, breathing. Why must they forget?
A hand lies against the glass, misty with the rain. Dark clouds sweep the skies, bathing the world beyond in a permanent twilight.
See yourself. Can you?
The chiffon folds flutter away in the breeze, settling against her slender frame now and then.
How long will you run away for?
She stands still, keenly aware of the quiet which surrounds her, the silence permeating into her very being,
You know who you are, don’t you?
The hand clenches against the glass, belying the restlessness tearing through her…capable of shattering the surface into a million fragments if it were a force of its own.
There is no other way of knowing the world.
Her gaze now settles at the sight before her, taking in the cold yet invigorating picture that the clouds seemed to be painting, enlivening her surroundings with that infallible sense of just being – the essence of being one with the universe gnawing at her very core.
Burn those shackles down.
She thinks of fire. A conflagration, raging and blazing its way through, tiny flames sparkling and dancing in the wind. There was something about elemental fury – water, fire, air, earth: so very essential to existence and matter.
Is it a reflexion or a paroxysm?
Her imagination gives way to mighty waves lashing over sands, only to shift to a raging storm kicking up dust everywhere. So in tune with her conflicts…that mental turmoil, driving her mad with equal parts exhilaration and agitation.
But you fight on, one battle after the other.
Even though they were fought in the vivid landscape of her mind. Alter egos would spring to life, repressed desires would come to the fore – each instance scripted as close to reality as possible as if it could be brought alive in a parallel universe.
And realisations beckon you.
Her gaze is fixed at the play of natural forces before her, while she continues to mould herself, dream by dream into an instrument of expression, attuned to everything that is characteristic of this world.
You have always sought creativity.
Coveted it to the point of vandalizing her psyche, only to realize it lay in her hands, in her will and courage to be.
The world awaits your glory.
She steps beyond the glass walls, breathing into the winds…dreaming of that fire setting her core aflame, alive.