“What do you know about me?” She asked me, waiting to unravel the secrets of her world. But little did she know that she was poetry I had been memorising for weeks. She was a new song while I was the radio, overplaying my number one. She was cast in indelible ink and I was nothing but a soft breeze in her world of hurricanes and tornados.
“Let me tell you about my fears,” so caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t realise she made me a little braver each day – giving me the courage to embrace the abyss with open arms and open eyes. She made me taste the light. She showed me what it was like to be the fire, instead of being burnt; to be the endless ocean, instead of being swallowed; and to be the wind, instead of the leaves.
She is no great war-torn hero, but was victorious against the demons playing with her mind. She falls in love with sweaty palms and shaky knees, but not in love with love itself. She saw colours in her head but nothing except black on the outside. Trying to be as real as there is, but can’t help but feign. She would go left instead of right just to wind up at the same place where she and I collide.
She wears an armour of lessons on her chest. She drops weighted rocks on her own fragile heart. She is a walking tragedy.
And yet, hers is a smile like sunshine. Like the breaking sun. Laughter like wind chimes and a voice that sounded like a grand orchestra.
She is a new piece of parchment with worn out edges – with old thoughts and new epiphanies. She gave my story a whole new meaning. An embodiment of paradoxes – the child of contradictions.