There was a girl with blood red lips
Always detached, cool and hip,
Defiant of the world,
She would not speak a word.
Yet, somewhere in her eyes
Shone stars and crystal skies
And dreams unheard…
She wouldn’t say a word.
As I opened my WordPress reader this morning, I found a Daily Prompt on the theme of understanding, which, incidentally, was precisely what I wanted to write about today. So here I am, alone in a classroom at school, writing… It feels a little strange. The sky is overcast — the clouds are a pearly grey colour with splashes of white light here and there. They make the tall trees in the playground look bluer… I seem to see the world through a filter.
Just like the world around me, just like the rolling waves of clouds in the sky, and the trees bowing their branches under the weight of the raindrops that gathered within their leaves, my mind is blurred. It is a little cliché to assume that I am one with the landscape. But I cannot understand the universe otherwise; even though I know that it must exist with or without me, it is only real to me as long as I am aware of it. If I were to cease upon the midnight, the raindrops, the leaves of grass and the morning dew on the soft-fallen petals of bloody poppies would all disappear with me…
Understanding… Understanding the world, understanding my feelings, hers… She is lying there by my side, with her hand laced to mine. We do not face each other; her eyes are wet, tears rolling silently down her temples and into her dark curls. She is an impenetrable fortress — no matter how high I climb, when I reach the arrow slits, all I can do is take a short peek inside the gardens of her mind. Poppies, cornflowers, daisies, cowslips and buttercups, each a thought I cannot pick. Would I understand them better were I to gather and plant them inside the gardens of my own mind?
In love, understanding comes unspoken, wordless it grows in the touch of a hand and in the meeting of troubled eyes. I do not need her to word her thoughts; I can only accept all of her, even the parts I cannot quite explain. Sometimes, I know that she cannot make sense of the way I act. Sometimes, I know that our ideas have to make loops, twists and follow circumvoluted ways before they meet at last, but it does not matter, for in the midst of chaos, in the look of her eyes, I understand and feel her within me, warm, and close.
“The pain of being alone is completely out of this world, isn’t it? I don’t know why, but I understand your feelings so much, it actually hurts. ”
― Masashi Kishimoto