FROM THE DIARY OF THE SANE NON-CONFORMIST: 15/11/2014
Dear Red Rose of the Arab Diaspora,
I listen to that same song again tonight, the same song I listened to when I wrote to her, the one who made me wary of all women. The melody, each tune, each string takes me deeper into a state of sweet melancholy, and in this moment I do not need to be happy, the light shies away from the gloom, I have no need for the glow, all I see is all I crave, I see the darkness and it is beautiful … just like your face.
I fear to imagine who you are, if I am asked I would say I know you, but that isn’t true because I doubt if anybody really knows you, we have only met you, we know your name, we are taken by your bloom but who are you? What are you?
I would compare you to a rose flower, elegant and beautiful but I am afraid of roses, with the beauty of their petals comes the piercing of their thorns, what gives pleasure lies on the surface, what gives pain lies beneath and beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, my eyes have beheld the beauty of the rose but I fear it may also behold the kiss of the thorns. So which is it? Which do you bear?
This girl, I should confess before I blabber about flowers and music and in the process consign to oblivion and forget why I wrote you this. I think of you sometimes, not just think, because I also think of cake, vodka and pillows. I would say daydream, I daydream of you. I have spoken to you in reality, but I have had deeper conversations that never happened with you, in my head. I can have a cake for my hunger, some vodka to drown the thoughts and a pillow to lay my head when the vodka paralyses me, but when will I have your attention?
They say things about you, things that should make a man who is already wary of the female kind keep his distance, but I am stubborn, stubborn and curious, and you know what curiosity did to that cat. Well they don’t know you, you might be dangerous, you might be even worse than they say, but I would rather witness first hand, than hide in wonder of what you are capable of. Who ever you are I want to know. I understand if people feel threatened by you, but me? I’ve already seen too much in my life, so I just say ” what’s the worst that could happen? “. I only know what my eyes tell me … You are a girl. You are a girl and I am a guy with no time to play guessing games or any other kind for that matter. I trust you are different in a special way, but if I am wrong, then I will simply forget your face and your name. It would give me no pleasure, but would save me pain.
I have faith, for I’ve seen you write enough and heard you say enough to know that you’re not another shallow beauty, I’ve looked beyond the horizon to see your views, you could be an hibiscus to make me smile the deeper we get, or an onion, and you know what onions do when you peel deeper into their layers, I know this for sure there’s something beneath your beautiful.
You are a girl like every other, oestrogen, lipstick and emotions. I want to see beyond the obvious, I already know what you look like through my eyes, and if only you could see what I see, its the most amazing thing I’ve seen in a while. I want to see you through your own eyes, but I fear to see what I look like through your own eyes, and with good reason. I am amazing too, but not all eyes can witness, not all souls can testify, if I look into your eyes deep enough will I catch a glimpse of your soul? Well I leave that to the future. Farewell for now.
I noticed I didn’t say your name, let me just call you Codename:TheTeenageWitch. ;)